Flash Marriage with my Fiance's Rival

On the day of my wedding, my fiancé Timothy left me at the altar.

He rushed to his first love, Audrey, after hearing she was arranged by her parents to marry a man said to be comatose, ruthless, and—according to rumors—old and ugly. I stood there, humiliated, heartbroken, and drowning in disbelief. Five years of love and promises shattered in an instant.

Then, just as I thought I couldn't take another second of it, a man stepped forward.

Scott.

He was handsome, composed, and strangely confident.

Without hesitation, he walked up to me, extended his hand, and said, "Marry me."

I should have questioned it. I should have demanded to know why a stranger was offering to save me from this nightmare. But in that moment, I was desperate to escape.

So, I took his hand and sealed the deal.

Before we parted ways, Scott looked at me with those piercing eyes and said, "I need a week to handle my business. When I return, I want a grand wedding to introduce you to everyone."

Still numb, I nodded. "Okay."

I didn't know who he truly was. All I had was his name Scott.

When I got home that evening, exhaustion weighed down on me. The past twenty-four hours had been an emotional storm, and I needed peace. But the world didn’t seem to care about my pain.

The news outlets exploded with headlines and photos—Timothy and Audrey, together.

They weren’t just seen together. They looked intimate, as if they belonged to each other. Smiling, whispering, standing too close. The images of them stung worse than Timothy’s betrayal.

I had been abandoned by Timothy for Audrey. His first love. the woman who left him years ago and hurt him, yet with just one call, he came running back to her, as if I was nothing.

I clenched my fists, swallowing the sharp sting in my chest.

Had I meant nothing to Timothy? Five years of love, of shared dreams and whispered promises—gone in an instant. I remembered the way he used to look at me, the way he would brush my hair back when I was stressed, the late-night drives when we talked about our future, about the house we’d buy, the family we’d build.

But in the end, I was the one left standing alone at the altar.

With that thought, I forced myself to my feet and started packing. Clothes, shoes, personal things—I shoved everything into my suitcase without hesitation. I needed to leave. This city, these memories… all of it felt suffocating now.

As I reached for another dress, my phone rang. I hesitated before checking the screen. My mother.

A lump formed in my throat. It had been years since I left home, since I turned my back on my family because they had disapproved of Timothy. And now, I knew why.

Taking a deep breath, I answered.

“Mom…” My voice wavered slightly.

“Sam,” she breathed out, relief evident in her tone. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard, gripping the phone tightly. Was I okay? I didn’t even know the answer to that anymore.

“I heard everything,” she continued gently. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. Just… come home.”

A shaky exhale left my lips. My mother had always been a strong woman, but in her voice, I heard something I hadn’t allowed myself to recognize before—unwavering love. She had warned me about Timothy. My father had, too. But I had been stubborn, so sure that love would be enough.

And now, here I was. Alone. Abandoned. And utterly broken.

“You’re always welcome home,” she said softly. “No matter what.”

I closed my eyes.

“I will,” I whispered. “Just… after a week.”

Just as I was about to say something else, a sudden wave of nausea crashed over me. My stomach twisted painfully, and a cold sweat formed at the back of my neck.

Dropping the phone onto the bed, I bolted toward the bathroom, barely making it before I emptied my stomach.

Gasping, I gripped the sink for support, my hands trembling.

No.

It couldn’t be.

A terrifying thought crept into my mind. My breath hitched as I quickly counted the days in my head.

I was late.

My pulse pounded as realization slammed into me.

I was pregnant.