My Cheating Fiancé Shaved My Head

I dragged my black duffel bag into the center of the living room. Aiden wanted me to clean up the mess. I planned to obliterate it.

I tossed my remaining legal documents inside the canvas bag. Every framed photograph of Aiden and me went into a cardboard box. I taped the flaps shut and shoved it toward the front door.

I walked into the kitchen and emptied the shared bank statements into the shredder. The machine whirred, chewing up the paper trail of our eight-year relationship. I stripped the apartment bare of my existence in under three hours.

My phone vibrated against the granite countertop.

The screen displayed a blocked number.

I swiped to answer. "Speak."

"I have the package, Miss Ray," a gravelly voice stated.

It was the private investigator I hired last week.

"Are you at the location?" I asked.

"Alley behind your building," he replied. "Bring the cash. No checks, no transfers."

"I know how this works," I said.

"Just making sure," he shot back. "People get skittish when they see the dirt I dig up."

"I am not skittish," I replied.

I hung up, grabbed a thick manila envelope from my purse, and walked out the door.

The investigator leaned against the brick wall next to the dumpsters. He wore a faded gray trench coat. The smell of stale cigarette smoke clung to his clothes.

He held out a small, metallic flash drive.

I passed him the envelope.

He thumbed the flap, his eyes scanning the stack of hundred-dollar bills. "Your target isn't the innocent sweetheart she plays."

"Tell me what you found," I demanded.

"I pulled her sealed medical records and court filings from out of state," he explained, pocketing the money. "Zaria Dawson was married four years ago in Nevada."

I crossed my arms. "Aiden told me she never dated anyone seriously because of her health."

"She lied," the investigator countered. "She married a guy named Thomas. Divorced him eight months later after draining his joint savings account."

"Did Thomas fight the divorce?" I asked.

"He tried," the investigator said, leaning closer. "But she threatened to ruin his career with false abuse allegations. He backed off and let her take the money."

"What else?"

"The medical clinic records," he continued. "She had a termination procedure during that marriage. Her ex-husband filed paperwork claiming paternity fraud. He thought the kid was his. It wasn't."

I stared at the metal drive in his hand. "Aiden thinks she is carrying his miracle baby."

"She might be," the investigator shrugged. "But she definitely lied about her pristine past. The files are encrypted. The password is your birth year."

I snatched the drive from his fingers. "Is there any chance she can deny this?"

"The clinic records have her signature and her thumbprint," he said. "The divorce decree has the judge's stamp. It's bulletproof."

"You've everything backed up?" I asked.

"Three secure servers," he confirmed. "Nobody can scrub this from the internet once it goes live."

"Good," I said, turning away.

I returned to the apartment and walked straight into the bedroom.

The white wedding gown hung on the back of the closet door. The seamstress had taken the waist in by a full inch last week.

I unzipped the back and stepped into the layers of tulle and silk.

I stood before the floor-length mirror. The dress hugged my ribs perfectly. Above the sweetheart neckline, my jagged, shaved scalp looked raw. The harsh bathroom lighting highlighted the uneven patches Aiden had left behind.

I reached into the white hatbox on the dresser.

I pulled out the custom lace-front wig I bought online hours ago. The synthetic blonde strands felt heavy. I secured the cap over my stubble, adjusting the hairline until it sat flush against my forehead.

The illusion was flawless.

I looked exactly like the obedient, beautiful bride Aiden expected to see at the altar.

I dragged my fingers through the fake hair. It lacked the warmth of my real hair, the hair I spent eight years growing. It scratched against my scalp, a constant, irritating reminder of the scissors Aiden used in the dark.

I stared at my reflection. My eyes held no warmth.

I unzipped the gown, stepped out of the white fabric, and packed it into a garment bag.

I grabbed the flash drive off the nightstand.

I had a meeting to attend.

Two hours later, I sat in the empty ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. The crystal chandeliers overhead cast long shadows across the vacant dance floor.

Julian, the hired master of ceremonies, tapped his pen against a silver clipboard. He wore a sharp black suit and a stressed expression.

"We have the father-daughter dance scheduled for eight o'clock," Julian noted, flipping a page. "Aiden requested a special spotlight for his groom's toast at seven-thirty. He wants all eyes on him."

"Give him the biggest spotlight you have," I instructed.

"He also asked to add an extra chair at the head table," Julian added, looking up from his notes. "For a Miss Zaria Dawson. He said she requires special accommodations."

"Put her chair right next to his," I replied. "Make sure she has a clear view of the projection screens."

Julian frowned. "The screens? We only use those for the welcome graphic."

I reached into my purse and pulled out the metallic flash drive.

I slid it across the linen tablecloth. It stopped right next to Julian's coffee cup.

"Change the schedule," I said.

Julian picked up the drive, turning it over in his hand. "Is this a romantic montage? I need to prep the audio team."

"Right after Aiden finishes his toast, lower the main lights," I directed. "Project this drive onto the main screens behind the head table."

"What's on it?" Julian asked.

"It's a collection of court documents and medical records," I replied, my voice steady. "They belong to Zaria Dawson."

Julian paused. He set his pen down on the clipboard. "Miss Ray, I don't understand."

"You don't need to understand," I told him. "You just need to plug it into the laptop and hit play."

"I need to know what I am broadcasting to five hundred guests," Julian pushed back, his professional tone slipping. "This is a high-profile event. The mayor is on the guest list."

"I previewed the files," I added, ignoring his panic. "There's no audio. Just high-resolution scans of a marriage certificate, divorce papers, and an abortion record. Make sure the text is large enough for the back row to read."

Julian swallowed hard. He looked from me to the metal drive. "You want to project medical records during the reception?"

"I want them displayed on all four screens simultaneously," I clarified.

"I can't do this," Julian said, pushing the drive back across the table. "I'll lose my vendor license."

I pushed the drive forward again. "I am paying you triple your rate to execute this flawlessly. The funds have already been wired to your offshore account. Check your phone."

Julian took out his phone. He tapped the screen, his eyes widening at the bank notification.

"Don't miss the cue," I warned him.

A bead of sweat formed at Julian's temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"Miss Ray," Julian started, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper. "Once this plays at the banquet, both families' reputations will be destroyed."

He stared at the drive, his hand trembling slightly.

"Are you sure you want to press this button?"