My Fiance Chose His Ex 18 Times

"I have to go, Hannah. Olivia's pipes burst."

Ben shoved his arms into his jacket, completely ignoring the torrential rain pounding the porch of the colonial house.

"Now?" I gripped the glossy open-house flyer. The bold print mocked me: Down payment $60,000. "This is our eighteenth viewing, Ben. The agent is waiting inside. We have an appointment."

"It's a plumbing emergency. She's ankle-deep in water." He didn't even look at me, fumbling with his zipper.

"Call a plumber," I said. "I'll pay for it. Just stay here."

"She's panicked. I just need to help her shut off the main valve."

"You're leaving me here? Again?"

"Just do the tour without me. Take notes. Tell the agent I got held up at work."

"It's Sunday, Ben."

"Hannah, please. Don't start a fight right now."

"This one has the bay windows I wanted. The backyard is fenced. You promised we would do this together."

"There will be other houses."

"We've said that seventeen times."

He bolted down the steps, splashing through the puddles toward his car. He didn't look back.

I stood alone under the narrow awning. The damp cold seeped through my coat. Six years. I had spent six years skipping morning coffees, packing lunches, and funneling every spare dollar into our joint savings account to reach that sixty grand. I wore five-year-old boots so we could afford a yard for a dog. And he was running off.

The heater in the taxi blasted dry air against my face. I stared at the glowing red numbers on the meter.

Three days ago, I sat in a similar cab. That was house viewing number seventeen. Ben had left me standing on a street corner in the freezing wind because Olivia's sedan stalled on the interstate. She always needed him. He always went.

I glanced down at the passenger seat. Ben had left his spare umbrella.

"Miss, are we staying here?" the driver asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. "The meter is running."

"Change of destination," I told him, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet. I gave him Olivia's address.

"You sure? It's pouring out there. You want me to wait for you?"

"No. Just drop me off."

"Suit yourself."

I grabbed the umbrella by its curved wooden handle. Ben would get soaked fixing those pipes. I would just drop it off, make sure everything was fine, and demand we reschedule the house tour for tomorrow. I needed to see that house with him. I needed this to mean something. I hadn't bought a new coat in four winters. I took extra shifts at the hospital just to pad that savings account.

The hallway of Olivia's apartment building smelled of stale carpet cleaner and cheap air freshener. I walked up to unit 4B. The door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of yellow light spilled onto the floor.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the brass knob.

"I can't stay here, Ben," Olivia's voice drifted through the crack. She didn't sound panicked. She sounded annoyed. There was no splashing water. No frantic rushing. "The rent is ridiculous. I'm drowning."

"You aren't going anywhere." Ben's tone was soft. Softer than it had been with me all morning.

"Easy for you to say. The landlord wants twenty-four thousand for the year upfront to keep this rate. I don't have that kind of cash."

"I already paid it."

Silence stretched inside the apartment. My hand froze on the knob.

"You what?" Olivia asked.

"I wired him the money this morning," Ben said. "You don't have to worry about rent for the next twelve months."

"Ben, where did you get twenty-four thousand dollars?"

"The house fund."

My stomach plummeted. The hallway spun.

"That was almost half your down payment," Olivia said. There was no guilt in her pitch. Just mild curiosity.

"It's just money. Hannah will understand. She's practical."

"Is she? She's been talking about this house for months."

"I handle the finances. I'll just say the bank delayed our pre-approval. I'll tell her the market is too volatile right now. We can keep renting for another year. It's fine."

"She won't be mad?"

"She'll get over it. She always does. You needed the help more."

My fingers slipped off the metal. Six years of scraping by. Six years of watching my bank account drain into a shared dream. Gone. He gave our future to her.

I stepped back. The wooden handle of the umbrella felt heavy in my grip. I turned toward the trash chute at the end of the hall, lifted the heavy metal lid, and dropped the umbrella inside.

The rain hit me the second I pushed through the lobby doors. I didn't care. The icy water soaked my hair and plastered my clothes to my skin as I walked down the block.

I didn't know where I was going. My joint account was empty. My fiancé was upstairs playing savior.

A black SUV slowed down, its tires hissing against the wet asphalt. It rolled to a stop right beside me, blocking my path at the crosswalk.

The tinted passenger window slid down.

A hand extended outward, holding a sleek black umbrella.

I stopped.

Theo Mercer leaned across the center console. I recognized him immediately. The sharp jawline, the dark eyes that always seemed to carry a mocking glint. He was Ben's former college roommate. They had a falling out years ago, something bitter and unresolved. Ben hated him. Now Theo was the top real estate broker in the city.

"Get in," Theo said.

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering, Hannah." He pushed the passenger door open. "And you look like you just lost a house."

I stared at the leather seat, then up at his face.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"I was showing a property down the street. Saw you walking like a ghost in a hurricane."

"I don't need your pity, Theo."

"I don't do pity." He kept his hand steady on the open door. "Ben is going to lose his mind if he sees you in my car."

"Ben isn't here, is he?"

Theo watched the water drip from my shoulders. "Need a real estate agent who won't leave halfway through?"

His voice carried low over the drumming rain.

I grabbed the door handle and pulled it wide.