My Fiancé Dated His Secretary, I Found a New Groom

Declan’s POV

The only thing I could clearly remember was that girl’s wide, trusting eyes—right before I lulled her to sleep.

And the second that memory came back, the pounding of my head and the tension in my chest that had followed me all day spiked.

Yeah, deep down, I knew exactly what set the discomfort off—that glimpse at the airport; that shape of a woman.

If some tall asshole hadn’t had his hands all over her… I would’ve sworn it was Prissie.

Later that night, while Reigne was in the shower, I opened iMessage.

Still, there was no reply from Prissie about the damn scarf.

What the hell was this supposed to mean?

Giving me the silent treatment?

I let out a short laugh, cold and unimpressed, and tossed the phone on the bed. Then I walked into the bathroom and slid into the warm tub beside Reigne.

The next three days, I shut everything else down—calls, work, even my assistant. I focused all my attention on Reigne. I took her to the best spots around half the city.

On the fourth night in Barcelona, Reigne curled up in my lap with a stack of postcards. She wrote gushing letters to her friends in Connecticut.

She fell asleep like that.

I stayed there for a while, doing nothing, then reached for one of the blank postcards.

Before I could stop myself, the pen in my hand moved.

[Prissie]

The name sat there on the page.

I stared at it for a beat, then crumpled the card and tossed it into the trash.

On the fifth day of our trip, Reigne stood before me wearing only lacy lingerie, her face flushed like a pink rose.

“Dex,” she murmured, “I know you’ve been holding back all this time because you’re afraid of hurting me… but I really want to be your woman.”

Her eyes shimmered with sincerity.

As usual, I responded with a gentle kiss, showering her with hours of tender affection.

But even so, I never crossed that final line—an invisible boundary I myself didn’t fully understand, nor for whom exactly I was guarding it.

In the end, Reigne fell asleep with tears silently soaking her pillow.

Early morning, day six, I called one of the guys back at the office.

I kept my tone nonchalant when I asked, “Has Prissie been doing her usual thing? Crying at the office, begging to see me?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before the reply came, hesitant and vague.

“S-Sir, Ma’am Prissie hasn’t come by at all recently.”

Huh.

I clenched the phone tightly. “Is that so? Well, good for her.” I sneered. “I guess she’s finally figured out how to behave.”

After hanging up, I dove straight into the villa’s infinity pool, swimming until exhaustion finally forced me to return to the room.

On the seventh day, he strolled hand in hand with Reigne through charming streets in the foreign city.

We laughed. Touched. Took photos. Everything about us screamed honeymoon.

Street vendors even smiled and congratulated us, mistaking them for newlyweds.

That illusion shattered the moment a woman appeared across the street in a flowing apricot-colored dress.

I narrowed my eyes and scoffed under my breath.

“Look who’s here. So this is why you’ve been so quiet lately? You actually flew out here to follow me?”

With disgust written all over his face, I stormed across the street, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around—and froze.

Damn it. Wrong woman.

She didn’t even look close to Prissie.

It was just that the woman happened to be wearing the same style of dress Prissie used to love—one I’d always hated.

Out of my head, I charged through traffic like a reflex.

By the time the woman disappeared, I stood frozen for a long moment, my mind spinning.

That’s when I felt the buzzing in my pocket.

I pulled my phone to check—my Facebook Messenger group chat with my guys was blowing up.

Damn punks. I tapped in, fully intending to leave the group.

But one glance stopped me cold.