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

The fever hit me like a hammer after the pool. My body shook violently beneath the damp clothes clinging to my skin, chills sinking deep into my bones. Each cough tore at my throat as if shards of glass were lodged inside. My skin burned fiercely, yet I shivered uncontrollably.

And then she appeared.

Helena. Poised by my bedside, a basin and towel in hand, pretending the act of care came from a place of tenderness. Her voice dripped with feigned sweetness. “Shh… calm down, Seraphina. Rest now. You’ll be fine,” she cooed.

I remembered Dominic’s warning clearly, his sharp tone slicing through my memory: “Don’t waste your time on her, Helena.” But she ignored him, playing the part of the compassionate angel while I lay frail and helpless.

I forced my eyes shut, swallowing the tears, pretending her touch was genuine. But the moment Dominic left, her demeanor shifted. The mask fell.

“You’re not his wife,” she hissed, close to my ear, the words cold and cutting. “You were never anything more than a bed warmer. That’s your entire value. Now that I’m here? It’s over for you. Understood?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat was dry, my body shaking.

She pressed a glass of water to my lips. “Drink.”

I tried to refuse, weakly shaking my head, but she forced the liquid down until it mingled with bile in my stomach. Moments later, I bent forward, vomiting violently. Tears streaked my cheeks, burning my eyes.

Helena stepped back, an ugly smirk curling her lips. “Pathetic,” she muttered. “Sick, weak, and useless. Why would Dominic ever care about someone like you when he has me?”

And just like that, she left me trembling, fever blurring the edges of the room.

Later, I heard Dominic’s cheerful voice outside—light, casual, as if the cruelty of the world wasn’t crushing me beneath it. “Come on, Helena. Let’s go enjoy our date.”

They left together.

I drifted into a fevered sleep with the sound of their laughter echoing in my ears, my body heavy with illness, my heart heavier still.

When I awoke, the fever had broken. My body ached, but I could move without collapsing. The room was empty. No Dominic. No Helena. Not even a single maid in sight.

I rang for assistance, and eventually a maid appeared—but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. Her lips were pressed tight; her posture stiff. I asked where Dominic was. She only bowed her head and walked away.

Confusion and dread clawed at me. I turned on the television, and the headline hit like lightning.

“Second Chances: Dominic Blackwood to Wed Helena Moore at Sunset Today.”

Images flashed on the screen—Dominic in his tailored suit, Helena radiant in her gown, smiling like the world owed them nothing. The anchor gushed, “A wedding of love reborn… destiny fulfilled…”

My body went rigid.

So that was it. Fine. They could have their perfect sunset wedding. But I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

I dragged my aching body to his office. Every shelf, every drawer, I searched. My eyes landed on the safe tucked in the corner.

My hands trembled as I typed combination after combination. Nothing. Then I noticed the photo on his desk—Helena, smiling, her arm linked with his. Her birthday. I typed it in. Click. The lock opened.

Inside were stacks of documents, bundles of cash, and a single flash drive. I knew. This was it. I plugged it into his laptop, holding my breath.

Reports, witness statements, confidential police files. Not just an accident. Not just guilt. Proof. Dominic had killed Adrian—and covered it up.

Tears blurred my vision as I gripped the flash drive like it was a lifeline. I called the police from his office phone, voice trembling. “I have evidence,” I whispered. “Adrian Cole’s death… it wasn’t an accident. I’m filing a case.”

After that, I packed in a fury, stuffing my clothes, documents, and small savings into a suitcase. Every movement fueled by rage and sorrow.

As I stepped outside, my brother waited by the car. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, softening only when they met mine.

“You’re ready?” he asked.

I nodded, tears brimming, voice shaking but firm. “Yes.”

He opened the car door. “Then let’s go.”

We drove through the city in silence. Lights streaked past as the sunset painted the horizon. At the airstrip, a private plane awaited. He guided me aboard, steadying my shaking hands.

As the engines roared, the world shrinking beneath us, I pulled out my phone one last time. Dominic’s number still at the top. I took a deep breath, removed the SIM card, and tossed it into the wind.

I was gone. And this time, there would be no return.

---

Dominic’s POV

I adjusted my cufflinks—the ones Helena had chosen. Today was supposed to mark a fresh start, a chance to bury the ghosts of my past.

The door creaked. I turned, expecting a staff member. Instead, two uniformed officers stepped in, faces unreadable.

“Mr. Blackwood,” one said, voice firm. “You are under arrest for the death of Adrian Cole.”

I laughed, though my throat constricted. “What? That’s impossible. Everyone knows it was an accident.”

The officer moved closer, holding a folder. “We have new evidence—a flash drive sent directly to us by Ms. Seraphina.”

Her name hit me like a blow. “Seraphina? Where is she? Bring her here!”

“She’s not present,” the officer replied, expression flat.

I snatched my phone, dialing her number over and over. Rings echoed, unanswered. Then dead silence.

The butler entered quietly, eyes wary. “Sir… she’s not picking up your calls.”

Helena’s voice trembled behind me. “Dominic… what’s happening? Why are they saying this? Why—”

“Shut up!” I barked, chest tightening, mind spinning. Evidence. Betrayal. Seraphina. Nothing added up. She wouldn’t dare. She couldn’t.

Then the butler’s phone buzzed. He answered, face paling. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to me.

“Sir… we just received a traffic incident report. Miss Seraphina… she was hit by a twelve-wheeler truck. She… is dead.”