I Gave Him My Heart, and He Took My Fiancé’s Life

“Do you still care about me?”

Hot tears spilled freely, splashing onto the phone as I pressed it tightly against my ear. My voice fractured under the weight of everything I was holding back. “If you do… please. I’m begging you. Help me disappear. Help me fake my death.”

Nothing answered me at first.

The silence stretched unbearably long, sharp enough to cut. Then a harsh laugh broke through, bitter and unforgiving.

“Now?” my brother snapped. “You’re asking for my help now? After all this time? After you turned your back on us? After you chose him over your own family?” His anger crackled through the line. “You betrayed us. You betrayed Adrian. All for that man. And now you expect me to save you?”

My chest rose and fell erratically. “I know,” I sobbed. “I know I was wrong. I see it now—too late. But please, you have to hear this.” My words poured out in pieces, broken and desperate. “He’s the reason Adrian died. He killed him… just so he could have his heart.” My breath hitched painfully. “And our baby—he took that too. I was blind. I should’ve never loved anyone after Adrian. Never.”

My fingers cramped as I clenched the receiver harder. “Please,” I whispered. “Come get me. I’ll do anything you ask. I swear. Anything.”

The line went quiet again.

Then, at last, I heard him exhale. “So you finally woke up.” His voice was calmer now, but heavy. “Fine. I’ll come for you in five days. Fix everything on your end. After that, you’re done with him—completely. No turning back. Do you understand?”

My legs nearly gave out as relief collided painfully with dread. “Yes,” I breathed. “I understand. Yes.”

The phone slipped from my hand. My body trembled uncontrollably as the room tilted and darkened around me. I couldn’t stay upright anymore. Everything faded—and I passed out.

When I regained consciousness, I was pressed against Dominic’s chest.

His arms steadied me as he gently shook my shoulders. “Seraphina? Why are you out here?” His voice sounded worried, tender. “You’re not well yet. You shouldn’t be walking around. Come on—if you collapse again—”

That voice. The same one that once convinced me I was cherished.

He carried me back to my room and carefully laid me on the bed, his touch soft enough to almost feel sincere.

“Seraphina,” he murmured, brushing the damp strands of hair from my face. “I’m sorry. Truly. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should’ve been there when you woke up.” His apologies flowed smoothly. “Work overwhelmed me. The company needed my attention. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

The words sounded sweet—but they were hollow.

I turned my face away, burying my tears before they could betray me. Playing ignorant was all I had left. Lowering my eyes, I whispered weakly, “It’s okay, Dominic. I’m sorry too… for causing trouble. For making you worry.”

Inside, my heart screamed. I already knew the truth—his regret wasn’t meant for me. Helena’s name weighed heavier on his conscience than mine ever had. Still, I nodded obediently, pretending I was the same woman he thought he controlled. Because pretending hurt less than breaking apart in front of him.

He fed me warm soup, one careful spoonful at a time, his gaze heavy with practiced remorse.

Once, I would’ve believed him.

Now, I knew every apology was just a performance meant to keep me quiet.

Then the door flew open.

“Sir Dominic!” the butler cried. “Something’s wrong with Miss Helena again. She’s vomiting badly. The doctor says you need to come at once!”

The instant Helena’s name was spoken, Dominic stood up abruptly. In his haste, the bowl tipped from his hand. Scalding soup spilled across my arm.

I screamed as pain ripped through my skin.

He didn’t even turn around.

Didn’t hesitate.

And just like that—he was gone.

I cradled my burned arm, shaking with both agony and fury. Through blurred vision, I treated the wound myself, pressing cold compresses against my skin while silent tears streamed down my face.

That was it.

I was done.

The following morning, I signed my own discharge papers. Weak and sore, I dragged myself out of the hospital and went straight to the cemetery.

Adrian’s grave.

The moment I saw his name, my strength vanished. I collapsed before the stone, my fingers tracing each carved letter. “I’m sorry,” I whispered through tears. “I’m so sorry.” My voice cracked. “I loved the wrong man. I let myself be deceived. The man who carries your heart is the same one who destroyed you… and me.”

My tears soaked into the soil as though I could somehow bring him back. Exhausted by grief, I drifted into a haze—and felt warmth surround me.

In my dream, Adrian held me. His arms were solid, familiar. He pressed his lips to my hair and whispered softly, You’re not alone.

When I woke, my face was wet with tears. Yet the echo of his embrace lingered, steadying my heart.

I forced myself home, struggling to breathe properly, my chest tight with exhaustion. That was when I saw it.

A massive billboard loomed above the city, lights blazing against the night sky. The headline was impossible to miss:

“Second Chances Taste Sweeter: Dominic Blackwood to Marry Helena Moore.”

The photo mocked me—Dominic smiling brightly, Helena glowing beside him.

I stood frozen, my heart emptied of everything.

So that was why he never married me. Why every promise faded into nothing.

But I didn’t cry.

There were no tears left to give. Love had burned itself out.

Because in five days, I would be dead.

And when I was gone—every single one of them would finally feel the weight of what they’d done.