Dumped at the Altar by My 'Amnesiac' Fiancé

Lorenzo looked at me with contempt.

“You should be thrilled that Vanessa even allows you to see me every day. Go ahead, get on your knees and thank her for her generosity.”

A few small-time businessmen around him immediately chimed in to flatter him.

“Oh, Mr. Nichols and his wife are showing you such mercy, letting you stay by their side. You should kneel down and show your gratitude.”

“Better to serve Mr. Nichols as a personal assistant than to end up selling yourself to some old man out there.”

“Mr. Nichols, you should get her checked out first. Who knows what kind of diseases she might be carrying?”

I stared at Lorenzo coldly.

He and I were once engaged in a powerful family alliance. While we weren’t madly in love, we’d grown up as childhood sweethearts, knowing each other inside and out.

At eighteen, Lorenzo knelt before me with a bouquet of flowers and told me I was the one he wanted to grow old with.

I had looked forward to marrying him with all my heart.

But then he fell for the very girl I had been sponsoring.

“She’s been through too much,” he said. “She has no one. She needs someone to take care of her.”

He even threw himself off a three-meter-high wedding stage just to fake some reincarnation nonsense, pretending to have lost his memory.

I was foolish enough to believe he’d really suffered a brain injury. From overseas, I sent him comforting letters every day and sought out world-renowned experts to treat him.

Then one day, Vanessa sent me a voice recording.

“Loren, you hit your head for me and lied to Danna, saying you lost your memory. I feel so bad. If I’d known, I would’ve told you to just marry her.”

“Hah! For you, I’d do more than hit my head—I’d die under you if you wanted. You’re so sweet, so soft while Danna is like a dead fish. She’s not even fit to make your bed.”

“Just look at the letters she sends me—groveling, clinging to me. Since she’s that cheap, once we’re married, I’ll tell her I ‘regained my memory’ and have her be our surrogate. Saves you the pain of pregnancy.”

“Loren, you’re so bad!”

“What can I do? If you get pregnant, I can’t touch you for ten months. That will kill me. She’s just a trash anyway. Might as well use her. After all, she’s obsessed with me.”

Then came the sound of moaning—utterly shameless.

My heart clenched. So was this the truth behind our two decades of shared childhood? Our years of friendship couldn’t even compare to a few nights of lust.

As the people around mocked me and flattered him, Lorenzo’s eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction.

I lifted my chin and said coldly, “Lorenzo, find yourself another personal assistant. I’m already married—and I have twin sons.”

With that, the crowd finally looked over at the two fair, chubby little boys and froze in stunned silence.

Lorenzo frowned, clearly impatient. “You really had kids? Who’s the father—a thug? A drifter?”

“Don’t tell me you dragged out some random children just to make a point. I still have those forty-eight love letters you sent me from abroad. You expect me to believe you had the heart to marry someone else and have his children?”

“You think I’d actually be jealous?”

I gave it a moment’s thought, then calmly pulled out a family heirloom from the Charles lineage—a ring set with a large emerald.

“My husband is Prince Charles of France. Not some thug or playboy—but the younger brother of King Charles VIII himself,” I intoned coldly.

Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of global affairs knew: Charles was the king’s most beloved brother, holding control over international trade and foreign commerce.

For the past four years of our marriage, he’d showered me with affection, but for my safety, he had never allowed my identity to be made public.

Vanessa finally straightened up, snatching the ring from my hand.

“There really is an iris flower engraved on it... and a tiny royal crest.” She sneered. “Are you trying to say that just because of this, you’re the Princess of France?”

“Well then, I’ll go make a few of these too—maybe ten or eight—and start calling myself Her Royal Highness, Queen of France.”