The Fiancée

Lydia’s heart pounded long after Eric slammed the door behind him. The sound echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot. She stood still in the middle of the living room, the little black box clenched tightly in her hand.

To C.S. — Forever, E.M.

Every word was a knife.

She’d spent a year in his bed, locked away from the world, whispered to in the dark like she was the only one he ever needed. But now she knew — it was all a lie.

He had a fiancée.

A real one. Someone he was proud of. Someone he promised a forever to.

Someone who wasn’t just a bed warmer.

Lydia grabbed her phone and searched with shaky fingers. It didn’t take long — Eric’s name was everywhere. Business news, crime rumors, lavish events. And there it was, hidden in a gossip article with grainy photos.

"Eric Moretti to Marry Senator Carter's Daughter — Christiana Carter Spotted with Ring!"

The picture was blurry, but the woman was smiling beside him, her hand on his arm. A dazzling diamond ring on her finger.

The same ring Lydia found this morning.

C.S.

Christiana.

Tears blurred Lydia’s vision as she dropped the phone on the bed. Her chest tightened with shame. She had been so stupid. So blind. She gave him everything. Her pride. Her body. Her loyalty.

But he never gave her anything back — not even the truth.

The door suddenly opened.

She wiped her eyes quickly, thinking it was Eric.

But it was Ivan, the young guard.

His eyes widened when he saw her, panic flashing in his expression. “Miss Lydia, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I thought Mr. Moretti had left.”

She nodded, swallowing her tears. “It’s okay. You can speak freely.”

Ivan hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I shouldn’t say this… but you need to know. What you saw on the news… it’s true. The engagement’s been planned for months. It’s not just business. He’s going through with it.”

“I figured,” Lydia said bitterly. “He engraved it.”

Ivan glanced at the floor. “He didn’t want you to know. He thinks you’ll run.”

“I will,” she said without hesitation.

Ivan looked up, startled. “You know he won’t let you leave.”

“I’m not asking permission.” She smiled sadly. “No more being his secret.”

A moment of silence passed before Ivan asked, “Do you want help?”

Lydia blinked. “Help?”

“I can get you out,” he whispered. “I owe you. You’re the only one in this house who ever looked at me like I was human.”

Her heart beat faster. The idea of escape — of real freedom — seemed impossible. But Ivan’s words lit something in her. A spark.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “After he leaves.”

Ivan nodded once, then slipped away.

Lydia stared at the closed door.