When My Fiancée Betrayed Me, I Ended It All

In less than six months, Cassandra Blake’s childhood sweetheart had visited our bridal chamber nine times, each visit taking something away. Furniture, appliances, even potted plants and paintings.

I wanted to call the police, but Cassandra stopped me every single time.

“Derek’s family isn’t well off. He just started working and can only manage the down payment. The house is empty,” she’d say.

“I agreed to lend him these things. It’s not like he won’t return them.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

I gritted my teeth and bought replacements.

The tenth time, Derek Langston took my figurine cabinet. Inside were treasures I’d collected for years—worth tens of millions.

I snapped. I chased him to his home.

Inside, everything was a mirror of my bridal chamber: the furniture, the layout, even the decorations. And on the wall of the bedroom hung a massive wedding photo of him and Cassandra.

Silently, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the homeowners’ group chat: “Everything in Room 801 is free. Need anything?”

——

Cassandra didn’t come home until eleven that night. She kicked off her heels, peeled off her stockings, and rubbed her ankle, her voice soft and drawn out.

“I’m exhausted. I really don’t want to work overtime.”

I didn’t answer, my gaze fixed on the dancing shadows across the TV screen.

Two hours ago, Derek had updated his Instagram post. A close-up of a movie ticket stub, the dim theater in the background, and a pair of hands tightly clasped together. On the girl’s wrist was the same bracelet Cassandra had worn when she left the house that morning.

I had been waiting six months for that movie, asking her out three times. The first time, she had a project. The second, her friend was in a bad mood. The third, the day before yesterday, she had frowned and declined.

“What’s so good about those sci-fi movies with all the fighting and killing? They’re so noisy. I’d rather stay home and rest.”

It wasn’t the movie—it was who I could watch it with.

Now, she sat beside me.

“Rub my legs! They’re so sore.”

The faint, sweet scent of popcorn butter, mixed with a hint of men’s cologne, filled the air. I didn’t move.

“Lucas, I’m talking to you. Why aren’t you responding?”

She nudged me with her elbow, her usual irritation in her tone.

“Yeah, I heard you,” I said flatly, devoid of emotion.

She paused, tilting her head to study me. But her good mood quickly overpowered her suspicion. She rose and headed to the bathroom.

“I’m so tired! I need a shower first.”

Afterward, she slipped under the covers, damp with the floral scent of her shower gel, and curled up against me. Her hand rested on my chest, fingers unconsciously tracing small circles.

“Dear…”

Her voice softened, the last syllable rising in that sticky, pleading way she always used when asking for something.

“Hmm?”

“Today Derek recommended a large Italian-style round bed. It’s absolutely beautiful! The design is luxurious, the genuine leather headboard looks high-end—it would be perfect for our bridal bedroom.”

Her eyes sparkled in the dim bedside light, full of longing.

“Can we change beds? The old one felt too ordinary and uncomfortable.”

I looked into her eyes, catching the reflection of the ceiling light, but it couldn’t reach deeper.

The room was silent, quiet enough to hear her shallow breathing. I didn’t answer immediately, as usual. But I didn’t refuse either.