My Fiancé Spent My Money on His Mistress

The boutique on Fifth Avenue smelled like money. Leather and glass and something floral I couldn't name. I ran my fingers over a velvet tray of engagement rings and tried to picture which one Raiden would like. We'd been talking about this for months. Ten years together, and we were finally doing it.

I smiled at the sales associate, a woman in a black suit with perfect lipstick. "I'm just browsing today," I said. "My fiancé and I are planning to come back together."

"Of course," she said warmly. "Take your time."

I moved to the next case. The rings sparkled under the lights. I thought about Raiden's face when he proposed last year. The terrace restaurant. The candles. The way he went down on one knee and said my name like it was the only word that mattered.

Then I heard her.

"It's custom," a woman's voice said from the counter behind me. Loud. Excited. "My boyfriend designed it himself. He's so talented. Look—"

I glanced over my shoulder. She was maybe twenty-five, blonde, wearing a red dress that probably cost more than my car payment. She held her phone out to a different sales associate, showing him something on the screen.

"See?" she continued. "Three stones in a row, but the middle one is oval and the side ones are pear-shaped. And the band has this twist right here—" She traced a line in the air with one manicured finger. "He said it represents how our lives came together. Isn't that romantic?"

My hand froze on the glass case.

I knew that design.

Raiden had sketched it for me four years ago on a napkin at a coffee shop. He'd explained the symbolism exactly the same way. The twist in the band. Our lives coming together. I still had that napkin in a box at home.

"That's beautiful," the associate told her.

"I know!" She laughed. "I'm so lucky. He's amazing. We're getting it made next month."

I couldn't breathe.

She kept talking, but I didn't hear the words anymore. I turned away and walked toward the door. My legs felt strange. The boutique suddenly seemed too bright, too small.

Outside, the spring air hit my face. I stood on the sidewalk and tried to think. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe lots of rings had three stones and a twisted band.

But I wasn't wrong.

The woman came out a few minutes later, still on her phone. She walked toward the parking garage next door. I followed her. I don't know why. I just did.

The garage was dim and cool. She walked to the third level. I stayed back, behind a concrete column, watching.

A car pulled up. Silver. Sleek.

A Rolls-Royce Cullinan.

I bought Raiden that car for his birthday two years ago.

The driver's door opened. Raiden stepped out. Dark hair. Gray suit. The same smile I'd loved for ten years.

He walked straight to the blonde woman and pulled her into his arms. She laughed and tilted her head back. He kissed her.

Not a polite kiss. Not a friendly kiss.

A real kiss. Long and slow and familiar. The kind that said they'd done this a thousand times before.

I stood behind the column and watched my fiancé kiss another woman in the car I gave him.

I didn't move. I didn't make a sound.

I just stood there until they got in the car and drove away.

Then I walked back to my own car, got in, and sat in the driver's seat for twenty minutes before I could remember how to start the engine.

---

That night, I sat on my apartment floor with my laptop.

I made a fake Instagram account. Then another one. I searched for Raiden's profile. I'd been blocked from his "close friends" list. I knew that. He'd told me once it was just work stuff. Boring posts. Nothing I'd care about.

I found Alyssa Romero's account through a tagged photo. Public profile. Hundreds of posts.

I scrolled.

There they were. Raiden and Alyssa. At a beach resort last summer. Wearing matching robes at a spa. Holding hands at a restaurant I recognized because I'd suggested it to him once and he said he didn't like that kind of food.

I kept scrolling.

A photo from three years ago. Four years ago. Five.

He'd been with her the whole time.

I opened my banking app. I pulled up the credit card I'd given Raiden for "emergencies." The one linked to my family's account.

Hermes. Cartier. Tiffany. Rent payments to an address I didn't recognize.

I cross-checked the dates with Alyssa's posts. Every designer bag she posed with. Every piece of jewelry. Every vacation.

I paid for all of it.

I found the screenshots next. Messages Raiden had posted in a private group chat that someone had leaked months ago. I'd never seen them before. He called me "the ATM." He and Alyssa laughed about the "waiting until marriage" lie. He said I was "useful."

I closed the laptop.

The room was very quiet.

Then my chest started to hurt. Sharp and hot, like something inside me was tearing.

I tried to stand up. The pain got worse.

I called 911.

I don't remember much after that.

---

I woke up in a hospital bed. White walls. Beeping machines. An IV in my arm.

My mother's face came into focus first. Valentina Kennedy, elegant even in a crisis, sitting in the chair beside me. Her hand was on mine.

"Selena," she said softly. "You're okay. You're at Lenox Hill."

My father stood by the window. Franklin Kennedy, still in his suit from whatever meeting I'd pulled him out of. He looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Worry. Anger. Love.

"What happened?" I whispered.

My mother squeezed my hand. "Gastric perforation. From stress, the doctor said. You've been here for six hours."

I closed my eyes.

Ten years.

I gave him ten years.