She Faked Her Death, and Her Fiancé Went Insane

The day I went to try on wedding dresses, my fiancé, Ryan Mitchell, claimed he was too busy with work to join me. Yet, in the fitting room, I stumbled upon a scene that tore my heart apart.

Ryan had his secretary, Penelope Brooks, pressed into a corner. Her trembling voice broke through the air.

“Mr. Mitchell, please be gentle. I’m pregnant.”

Ryan froze, his expression shifting between shock and anger.

“Don’t even think about using this child to replace Nora’s position in my heart!” he snarled.

In response, Penelope leaned in, her lips brushing his in a desperate, calculated kiss. His anger seemed to waver, and I stood there, watching the man I thought I knew betrayed me so blatantly.

My fists clenched, shaking with suppressed rage and sorrow. I wanted to confront them, to scream at the lies and deceit—but I couldn’t. Instead, I turned away, grabbed the high-end wedding dress I had chosen for our big day, and cut it apart with trembling hands.

Later that day, Ryan sent me a message:

“I’m sorry, I can’t make it to the fitting. Work’s hectic. I’ll be working late tonight.”

The words felt like salt in an open wound. Before I could even respond, a flood of photos arrived from Penelope—images of them tangled together in intimate moments.

So, this was his “overtime.” All those late nights weren’t spent at the office, but with her.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips as tears blurred my vision. The man I had loved, the man I was supposed to marry, had broken something inside me. I canceled the wedding reservations that same day.

But on what would have been our wedding day, Ryan appeared at my door, disheveled and desperate. He fell to his knees, his eyes bloodshot and filled with anguish.

“Nora,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “you are my life. How can you bear to leave me?”

His words, once so cherished, now felt hollow.

——

The memory of the fitting room came rushing back—Penelope’s pleading, their entangled bodies, their obliviousness to my presence. I had stood there, tears streaming silently, unable to comprehend how the man who once swore to love me could betray me so cruelly.

Today was supposed to be a special day—the day we tried on wedding dresses. Ryan told me he was tied up with work and asked me to go ahead without him. I didn’t mind at first. But when I arrived, I was met with a scene I’ll never forget.

Ryan was already there, his arms wrapped tightly around Penelope, his new secretary. Penelope, who had joined his company just three months ago, was the same woman I had convinced him not to fire when he called her clumsy and unfit for the job. I felt sorry for her then, believing she deserved a chance.

Now, standing before me, she was crying, her trembling hands clutching her stomach.

“She’s pregnant,” the thought struck me like a thunderbolt.

My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay composed. The pain tore through me, but I wouldn’t let myself break down—not here, not in front of them.

To the shock of the shop assistant, I seized the high-end wedding dress, worth tens of millions, and shredded it with trembling hands. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but my resolve held firm.

When I returned home, my phone buzzed with a message from Ryan.

“Sorry, I was swamped with work and couldn’t make it. I’ll be working late tonight, so don’t wait up.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He had no idea what I had just witnessed—no idea that the wedding dress he insisted on, the dream he had promised me, lay in tatters.

Before I could muster a reply, a message from Penelope popped up. Attached were a series of photos: intimate, lingering moments between her and Ryan. My stomach churned as I scrolled through them, nausea rising until I stumbled to the trash can, retching violently.

“Is this the love you swore to me, Ryan?” I whispered hoarsely.

The diamond ring he had custom-made for me—a symbol of our so-called love, worth tens of millions—slipped from my fingers and landed in the trash.

That night, fever consumed me. I woke the next morning to find Ryan sitting by my bedside, his face etched with concern.

“Nora, you were fine yesterday. Why are you suddenly so ill?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he tried to help me up.

Instinctively, I recoiled. His touch burned like fire.

His hand froze midair, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes.

“Nora, what’s wrong?”

When I looked up, I noticed them—faint kiss marks on his neck, hastily concealed but impossible to miss.

I had already accepted his betrayal, or so I thought. But the sight of those marks pierced through me like a dagger, reopening wounds I thought I’d sealed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and steadied my voice.

“Ryan,” I began, locking eyes with him, “when we first got together, I told you: if the day ever came when I felt you didn’t love me anymore, I would leave you forever. Do you remember that?”

He nodded, his expression unreadable.

“And now, tell me honestly.” I leaned closer, my gaze unwavering, searching his face for the truth. “Have you done anything to betray me during this time?”

The silence stretched between us like a chasm. I waited, hoping against hope for the man I had loved for ten years to speak the truth.