My Best Friend Stole My Fiance — So I Fake-Married The Billionaire Who Destroyed Her
Part 1
The familiar scent of my expensive French perfume hit me the second the apartment door clicked open.
It definitely wasn’t on my skin.
Following the soft, rhythmic thumping down the hallway, my fingers tightened around the leather handle of my briefcase.
A muffled giggle echoed from my bedroom.
Nudging the door with my foot revealed the nightmare waiting inside.
My best friend, Brenda, was tangled up in my imported silk sheets.
The man underneath her was Craig, my fiance of three years.
Craig scrambled backward against the headboard, dragging the heavy duvet over his chest.
His face drained of color as he fumbled for a pathetic excuse.
Brenda didn’t even flinch.
She slowly reached for my custom silk nightgown resting on the nightstand and slipped it over her bare shoulders.
Standing in the doorway, the life I had built crumbled into dust in front of my eyes.
Pointing to the walls, I listed the rent, the utility bills, and his crippling student debt that fell entirely on my shoulders.
Sixty-hour weeks had drained my youth just to support his supposed entrepreneurial dreams while he contributed absolutely nothing.
Brenda just rolled her eyes and adjusted the delicate lace trim of my gown.
Lazily tracing a finger down Craig’s jawline, Brenda smirked directly at my stunned expression.
Working too much was my fatal flaw, apparently, and Craig supposedly needed a real woman who actually had time for him.
Craig refused to look me in the eye, effectively confirming his betrayal.
A perfectly manicured hand casually pointed toward the front door.
Getting out of her new house was my only given option.
Screaming or throwing the heavy glass vase resting on the dresser wasn’t my style.
Packing a single overnight bag required complete, unnerving steadiness.
I stepped out into the freezing rain, letting the harsh chill lock my jaw tight against the betrayal.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the wedding planning agency burned my exhausted eyes the next morning.
My boss’s heels clicked sharply across the floor before she slapped a thick, cream-colored folder onto my desk.
Tapping her manicured nail against the embossed cover, she assigned me the most critical client in the history of our firm.
The bride was the sole heiress to the wealthy family fortune, a prominent local dynasty with ruthless connections.
A single raised eyebrow and a throat-cutting gesture warned me that failure meant a permanent blacklist from the industry.
I slowly opened the folder, my stomach dropping into my shoes.
A glossy engagement photo of Brenda and Craig stared back at me.
Brenda had specifically requested me as her head planner just to twist the knife.
She walked into the office an hour later, leaning heavily on Craig’s arm.
She smirked at my wrinkled clothes and the dark under-eye circles I couldn’t hide.
She loudly demanded an unforgettable, lifelong memory for her incredibly special day.
I kept my expression entirely blank, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a visible reaction.
I assured her my firm would provide excellent, highly professional service.
Brenda leaned across my desk, her massive diamond ring catching the harsh office light.
She lowered her voice and told me this was going to be the absolute wedding of the century.
She had one impossible, non-negotiable condition for my continued employment.
If I wanted to keep my miserable little job, I had to secure the reclusive anonymous artist to design the venue.
The anonymous artist hadn’t been seen in public for three years and was essentially a ghost in the high-end art world.
It was an impossible demand specifically designed to ruin my career and my reputation.
I nodded once, closing the heavy folder with a sharp snap.
I told her I would see her at the engagement party that evening to finalize the preliminary venue sketches.
The grand ballroom at the elite country club smelled of imported orchids, expensive champagne, and old money.
I stood in the shadowy corner with a clipboard, making sure the catering staff kept the crystal flutes full.
Brenda spotted me hiding near the service doors and intentionally dragged Craig over to my station.
She loudly announced to her wealthy friends that I was the pathetic wedding planner she had graciously hired out of pity.
A few of the women in designer gowns covered their mouths, hiding their cruel laughs.
Brenda asked if I had a handsome boyfriend to inspire my romantic designs, or if I was still just a discarded piece of trash.
She suggested I had made up a fake partner just to feel better about my sad, pathetic existence.
My fingers curled so tightly around my clipboard that the plastic backing audibly cracked.
A tall man in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit stood near the massive ice sculpture, quietly nursing a drink.
He had dark hair and an intensely sharp jawline, radiating an aura of complete, undeniable authority.
I didn’t stop to think about the massive consequences of my next action.
I dropped my cracked clipboard onto a nearby cocktail table.
I marched straight up to the stranger, grabbed the lapels of his expensive jacket, and pulled his mouth down to mine.
He tasted like expensive bourbon and absolute surprise.
His hands instinctively hovered over my waist before settling firmly against my lower back, pulling me closer.
I pulled back, turning to face Brenda with a forced, radiant smile.
I introduced my new man, keeping my hand firmly planted on his solid, muscular chest.
I fully expected the handsome stranger to push me away or call security to have me thrown out.
Instead, the entire ballroom went completely, horrifyingly dead silent.
The string quartet abruptly stopped playing mid-measure.
Brenda’s jaw practically unhinged as she took a trembling, terrified step backward.
I turned to face the crowd, only to realize the stranger I had just kissed was the billionaire heir who owned the entire city.
I stared into the cold, calculating eyes of Tyler, silently waiting for the inevitable humiliation of being rejected.
