My Fiancé Watched as His Mistress Tried to Kill Me

The bathroom door creaked open again, and I looked up through tears of agony to see Brittany leaning against the doorframe. Her silhouette was backlit by the hallway light, creating a sinister halo around her figure. Gone was the fake sweetness she'd worn like a mask earlier. Now her face was a canvas of cold satisfaction.

"Need some help?" she asked, her voice dripping with false concern as she stepped into the bathroom.

I tried to speak, but another wave of pain tore through me, turning my words into a strangled cry. The substance had spread further, creating a chemical burn that felt like molten metal against my skin.

"Oh, Katherine," Brittany sighed, crouching down beside me. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice your little medical condition?"

She held up a small bottle—identical to the one Xander had smashed, but this one was full. The label read "Industrial Strength Super Glue" in bold red letters.

"You see," she continued, twirling the bottle between her manicured fingers, "I've been watching you for months. Poor little rich girl with her embarrassing problem." Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out what you kept seeing Dr. Chen for?"

Horror washed over me as realization dawned. "You... you switched them," I gasped.

Brittany's laugh was like ice picks in my skull. "Took me three tries to get the perfect timing. Had to make sure Xander was distracted just long enough." She leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. "Industrial grade, Katherine. The kind that bonds skin permanently."

My mind reeled with the implications. This wasn't just a cruel prank or jealous sabotage—this was attempted murder.

"Why?" I managed to choke out.

"Because you don't deserve him," she hissed, her pretty features twisting with hatred. "You don't deserve any of this." She gestured around at the luxury surrounding us. "Your money, your privilege, your perfect life. I've worked so hard to get close to Xander, and you waltz in with your trust fund and your... problems."

I needed help. The panic button—my father had insisted I carry it after a string of kidnappings in our social circle last year. It was in my purse, just ten feet away.

"Xander!" I screamed, summoning what little strength I had left. "Help me!"

Brittany's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing with calculation. She darted into the hallway, her voice rising in alarm.

"Xander! She's faking! She's trying to get you in trouble!"

I heard his heavy footsteps approaching, then his face appeared in the doorway, flushed with anger.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"I need my purse," I gasped, reaching toward where it lay by the sink. "The panic button—please, Xander."

Brittany appeared behind him, her hand on his shoulder. "She's trying to get you arrested, Xander. For what? Not sleeping with her? Think about your future."

Something dark crossed his face—fear, perhaps, or simply the weakness that had always lurked beneath his charm.

"You're pathetic," he spat, striding across the bathroom.

For a moment, hope flared in my chest—until I realized he was heading for my purse, not to help me but to prevent me from calling for help.

"No!" I cried out as he grabbed the small device.

With one vicious stomp of his foot, he crushed the panic button beneath his heel. The plastic casing splintered, electronics spilling onto the marble floor.

"There," he said, brushing his hands together. "Problem solved."

Brittany's triumphant smile made my blood run cold.

The glue was setting completely now, my skin fusing in the contorted position I'd collapsed in. The pain was unbearable, radiating outward from my core in waves that made black spots dance before my eyes.

"Oh God," I moaned, feeling bile rise in my throat.

I vomited onto the floor beside me, but couldn't move to wipe my mouth or clean myself. The humiliation burned almost as much as the chemical reaction still taking place on my skin.

"Look at you," Brittany whispered, kneeling beside me again. "The perfect Foster heiress, covered in vomit, glued to her own bathroom floor."

She reached over and picked up my phone from the counter, dangling it just out of reach.

"Your daddy's security team can't help you now," she said, her voice almost gentle as she slid the phone across the floor and into the far corner of the bathroom.

I watched helplessly as my last connection to the outside world skidded away, leaving me alone with my tormentors.

The room began to spin around me as shock set in. Through the haze of pain, I heard Brittany's voice as if from underwater.

"She'll die here, Xander. Infection, shock, whatever. And then I'll take her place. Her money, her connections..." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Her boyfriend."

Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision as I realized with horrifying clarity: this wasn't just an attack—it was an execution.