My Fiancé Left Me Dying for His Mistress

The nurse handed me discharge papers and a bottle of painkillers. 'Take it easy for the next few days,' she said. 'Those ribs need time to heal.'

I nodded. My throat still felt raw from the oxygen tube they'd shoved down it in the ER. The bruises along my ribcage bloomed purple and yellow beneath my hospital gown.

Darius appeared in the doorway. He held a bouquet of grocery store flowers. Carnations. The cheap kind that came wrapped in cellophane.

'Ready to go home?' he asked.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. His hair was perfectly styled. His shirt was pressed. He'd had time to shower and change while I'd spent the night hooked up to monitors, listening to the beep of my own heartbeat.

'Yes,' I said.

The drive back to the penthouse was silent. He kept his eyes on the road. I kept mine on the window. When we pulled into the garage, he didn't help me out of the car. Just walked ahead to the elevator and held the door.

Inside the apartment, I went straight to my editing desk. The one tucked in the corner of the guest room, where I'd spent seven years building his empire while he slept. I sat down carefully, my ribs screaming, and opened my laptop.

One by one, I completed the final transfers. Backend access to Instagram. YouTube channel ownership. TikTok creator account. The email where brand deals arrived. The Dropbox with seven years of raw footage. Every password changed. Every recovery email rerouted to an address he didn't know existed.

Then I opened the car's cloud storage account. The dashcam footage was already there, uploaded automatically after the crash. I downloaded it. Watched it once, my face blank.

The video showed everything. Lennon's hand shooting out to grab the wheel. The impact. My body slamming against the door. Then the part that made my chest go cold: Darius unbuckling his seatbelt, stepping out of the car, walking past my window without looking in. His voice calling for help — for her. The camera angle caught me perfectly, convulsing alone in the back seat, lips turning blue, while he carried Lennon to the ambulance.

I saved copies to three different encrypted cloud accounts. Then I closed the laptop and sat in the silence.

Darius appeared in the doorway. 'You coming to bed?'

'Soon,' I said.

He left without another word.

Two days later, the bruises had darkened. I covered them with makeup, layer after layer, until my face looked almost normal. The neck brace sat on the bathroom counter. I replaced it with a silk scarf, knotted carefully to hide the purple fingerprints of the seatbelt.

Darius found me in the kitchen. 'Lennon's promotion dinner is tonight,' he said.

I poured coffee into my mug. 'Okay.'

'We're going.'

I turned to look at him. 'I don't think I'm up for it.'

His jaw tightened. 'She's my colleague. You not showing up makes me look bad.'

'I was just in a car accident.'

'So was she,' he said. 'And she's going. Stop being dramatic.'

I stared at him. Waited for the apology. The concern. The acknowledgment that I'd almost died while he posed for photos with her.

Nothing came.

'Fine,' I said quietly.

The restaurant was one of those rooftop places with string lights and a view of the Sound. Glass walls. Exposed brick. The kind of spot that looked better on Instagram than in person.

We arrived late. The table was already full — Lennon's airline colleagues, their partners, a few people I didn't recognize. Lennon sat at the center in a red dress, her wrist still wrapped in that ridiculous bandage. When she saw us, she waved.

'Darius! June! You made it!'

Darius kissed her cheek. Pulled out the chair beside her. Sat down.

I stood there, holding my purse, until someone at the far end of the table scooted over to make space. I walked the length of the table and sat down in the empty seat. No one looked at me.

Darius and Lennon angled their chairs toward each other. Their knees almost touched. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting on his forearm.

I ordered water. The server brought bread. I didn't touch it.

Across the table, someone raised a glass. 'To Lennon! Our newest senior flight attendant!'

Everyone cheered. Lennon stood, beaming, and gave a little speech about teamwork and gratitude. Darius watched her like she was the only person in the room.

I excused myself. No one noticed.

The restroom was down a narrow hallway lined with framed photos of old Seattle. I pushed through the door and leaned against the sink, breathing slowly through the pain in my ribs.

The door opened behind me.

Lennon stepped inside. She checked the stalls, confirmed we were alone, then turned to me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

'June,' she said sweetly. 'We need to talk.'