The Fiancé Who Chose Another

My fiancé, Jacob, crashed another woman' s wedding. I found out from a viral video while preparing his favorite dessert to celebrate our upcoming IVF cycle.

It was Kierra Gates, the "struggling artist" he always claimed to pity. This wasn't the first time. Three years ago, he beat a man bloody for her, a public scandal that nearly broke us.

I stood by him then, swallowing the humiliation and my friends' warnings. I even forgave him for the miscarriage his violent outburst caused. He swore it was over, that our future, our family, was all that mattered.

But as I watched the video of him snatching her from the altar, his promises echoed like a cruel joke. He' d abandoned me again, on the cusp of our dream, for the same woman.

My love for him, a fifteen-year constant, finally ran dry. This wasn't just another betrayal; it was the end.

I picked up the phone, my hand steady. "I'd like to cancel my IVF appointment," I told the clinic. "And schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."

Chapter 1

Audra Walker POV:

The smell of burnt sugar filled the kitchen, but it wasn't the worst thing burning that day. My phone buzzed, then vibrated again, an insistent, desperate rhythm against the pristine marble countertop. I was stirring the delicate crème brûlée, preparing Jacob' s favorite dessert to celebrate our upcoming IVF cycle. A special meal for a special occasion.

The first message was from Sarah, a screenshot of a viral video. "Audra, you've seen this, right? Is this... Jacob?"

Before I could even open it, another ten messages flooded in. My phone screen exploded with notifications, each one a sharp jab to my calm Sunday afternoon. There were links to news articles, screenshots of comments, and a flurry of "Are you okay?" messages from friends. They all pointed to the same thing.

I tapped the video link, my heart a dull thud against my ribs. The grainy footage showed a church, a wedding. And then, Jacob. My fiancé, Jacob Daniel, a man I' d loved for over a decade, storming down the aisle like a madman, snatching a woman mid-vows. Kierra Gates. The struggling artist he always claimed to "pity." The woman whose wedding he just crashed.

The comments underneath scrolled endlessly. "Isn't that Jacob Daniel, the tech guru? What's he doing?" "Oh my god, it's Kierra Gates! Didn't he do something similar for her before?" "This is giving me déjà vu. Three years ago, he literally beat up a guy for her."

Three years. The number echoed in my head, cold and precise. Three years ago, Jacob, the rising star of the tech world, became infamous overnight. Not for his innovations, but for a public brawl. He' d assaulted a man, violently, in front of a gallery opening, all because someone had allegedly insulted Kierra' s art. It was a spectacle, broadcast on every news channel, dissected on every social media platform. My Jacob. My polished, charming Jacob, reduced to a primal, raging beast for her.

I remembered the headlines: "Tech CEO's Violent Outburst for Artist Muse." The public had been divided. Some called him a hero, a passionate protector. Others called him unhinged. I just called him mine.

Someone on the live comment feed had even quoted his passionate, drunken declaration from that night: "No one touches Kierra! She's mine! My responsibility! My suffering angel!" I'd stood by him then, convinced it was a one-time madness, a misguided act of chivalry. My friends had warned me. My gut had screamed. But my love for him, that deep, ingrained love, had silenced it all.

My hand, still holding the spoon, trembled violently. The delicate ceramic bowl slipped from my fingers, shattering on the tile floor. My bare hand instinctively reached out to steady myself, landing flat on the still-hot stove burner. A sharp sizzle. The smell of burning skin filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of caramelized sugar. But I felt nothing. No pain. Only a profound, suffocating numbness that had started the moment I saw Jacob in that video.

My vision blurred, not from tears, but from the sheer weight of it all. I needed to call him. I had to. My thumb fumbled across the screen, finding his contact. The phone rang once, twice, then the familiar, detached female voice: "The subscriber you dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message."

A dry, choked laugh escaped my throat. It was a hollow sound, empty as the promises he'd made this morning. Just hours ago, he'd stood in this very kitchen, holding me close, whispering about our future. "This time, Audra," he'd promised, his lips brushing my hair, "this time, it's real. Our family. Everything." He' d said it with such conviction, his eyes mirroring my own hopeful anticipation.

He' d sworn on our decade of history, on our shared dreams, on the very love that tethered us together. He' d promised me he was done with Kierra, that she was a mistake, a phantom of misplaced pity. I had believed him. Foolishly, desperately, I had believed him.

Now, as the robotic voice repeated its cold message, I felt a strange sense of clarity. My emotions, once a tumultuous ocean, had receded, leaving behind a barren, silent shore. There was no anger left, no tears, no familiar ache in my chest. Just an exhaustion so profound it felt like my soul had been scooped out. This wasn't anger; it was the quiet despair of a well running utterly dry. This wasn't the first time he'd let me down, not by a long shot. But this was the last.

I calmly rinsed my burned hand under cold water, watching the skin blister. It was a small wound, almost inconsequential compared to the gaping chasm in my chest. My movements were slow, deliberate. I cleaned up the broken ceramic, swept the shattered pieces into the trash. The crème brûlée, now forgotten, sat cooling on the counter, a tragic monument to a future that would never be.

My fingers, still slightly numb, found the clinic's number in my contacts. I dialed. The nurse's cheerful voice answered.

"Yes, this is Audra Walker. I'd like to cancel my IVF appointment scheduled for next week." My voice was steady, even.

There was a pause on the other end. "Oh, Ms. Walker, is everything alright? Perhaps we can reschedule? You've been waiting for this for so long."

"No," I heard myself say, the word flat and final. "No need to reschedule. And... I'd like to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."

Another stunned silence. "Ms. Walker, are you sure? We can-"

"Yes, I'm sure," I cut her off, my voice gaining a chilling edge of steel. "Just... end it."

The line went quiet for a moment too long. "Of course, Ms. Walker. I'll see what we can do for tomorrow morning."

Tomorrow. A new day. A new beginning, forged from the ashes of a life I could no longer stand.