After My Fiancé’s Public Betrayal, I Wedded His CEO Rival

Morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains, rousing me from a dreamless sleep. My head throbbed, punishment for last night's whiskey and poor decisions. Fragments of memory drifted back—the hotel bar, those intense dark eyes, strong hands, and a suite with a view of the Seattle skyline. Finn. That was his name.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. What had I done? One minute I was drowning in the humiliation of Jason's betrayal, the next I was falling into bed with a stranger whose last name I couldn't even remember.

My phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. I reached for it, squinting at the screen. Twenty-seven notifications? At 7 AM?

The first message was from Quinn: *CALL ME RIGHT NOW. ARE YOU SEEING THIS?*

Attached was a link to a tabloid website. My stomach dropped as I clicked it open.

*BILLIONAIRE BACHELOR FINN SHEPARD'S MYSTERY REDHEAD: WHO IS SHE?*

Beneath the headline was a grainy photo that made my blood run cold. Me, wrapped in nothing but a sheet, curled against Finn's bare chest as he slept. The photo was taken through a window—some paparazzo with a telephoto lens had caught us.

My phone continued buzzing. More messages, more links. The story was everywhere.

*Billionaire CEO Finn Shepard launches #FindHer campaign after one-night stand*

*Shepard Industries stock jumps as CEO's love life goes viral*

*WHO IS SHE? Finn Shepard offers reward for identity of mystery woman*

I scrolled through Twitter in horror. #FindHer was trending nationwide. Finn's PR team had turned our one-night stand into a viral sensation—a modern-day Cinderella story, complete with the prince searching for his mystery woman.

Except I hadn't left a glass slipper. According to one article, I'd left a broken watch, an old friendship bracelet, and $100 cash. I vaguely remembered placing the money on the dresser before slipping out at dawn, thinking it would somehow make me feel less... used. Now it made me look like either a thief or an escort.

My phone rang. Quinn. I couldn't talk now—couldn't form words through the panic closing my throat. I silenced it and stumbled to the shower, as if hot water could wash away this nightmare.

---

The office was buzzing when I arrived. I'd considered calling in sick, but hiding would only make things worse. I needed normalcy, needed to pretend my life wasn't imploding in real-time on social media.

"Did you see that #FindHer thing?" someone whispered as I passed the break room.

"I heard he's offering fifty thousand dollars to anyone who can identify her."

I ducked my head, clutching my coffee like a shield. No one knew it was me in those photos—the images were grainy, my face mostly hidden against Finn's chest. But how long before someone recognized me?

"Look at this!" Melissa from accounting exclaimed, holding up her phone to show a small crowd gathered around her desk. "They're saying she's either a high-end escort or a corporate spy trying to get inside information on Shepard Industries."

I froze behind a nearby cubicle, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it.

"Personally," Melissa continued, "I think she's just some gold-digger who thought she hit the jackpot. I mean, look at this tabloid cover—'WHO WILL CLAIM THE BILLIONAIRE?'—like he's some prize to be won."

The office swam before my eyes. I was the gold-digger. I was the spy, the escort, the opportunist. Every cruel theory was about me—the woman who'd just had her heart shattered and made one impulsive decision.

I retreated to my desk, hands shaking as I pretended to work. How had this happened? One moment of weakness, and now I was the subject of a nationwide manhunt.

---

"Open up! I've got reinforcements!"

Quinn's voice echoed through my apartment door that evening. When I opened it, she stood there with two bags of takeout, a bottle of prosecco, and fierce determination in her eyes.

"You look like hell," she announced, pushing past me into the kitchen. "But we're going to fix this."

"There's no fixing this," I mumbled, collapsing onto a barstool. "Have you seen what they're saying about me? About the 'mystery woman'?"

Quinn uncorked the prosecco with a decisive pop. "Yes, and it's all garbage. But we need a plan. Your parents called me, by the way. They saw the news and want to know if you've 'heard about that poor girl.'"

Despite everything, I laughed—a strangled, desperate sound. "What did you tell them?"

"That I'm sure she's a perfectly nice woman who deserved privacy." Quinn handed me a glass of bubbling courage. "Now, we need to draft a statement for when they inevitably find out it's their daughter."

"They'll be so disappointed."

"Stop." Quinn gripped my shoulders. "You are not the villain here. Jason cheated on you publicly, humiliated you, and you had one night with an admittedly hot billionaire. You're allowed to be human, Ava."

Tears spilled down my cheeks. "What happens when Finn finds out who I am?"

Quinn's expression softened. "I don't know. But whatever happens, you'll face it with dignity—and with me beside you."

I nodded, clinging to her certainty when I had none of my own. But as we drafted careful explanations for my parents, I couldn't shake the dread building inside me. Sooner or later, Finn Shepard would discover my identity. And when he did, what would he want from the woman who'd fled his bed at dawn?