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Seven years ago, I stood on a stage in a pristine white dress, my hand outstretc- hed, ready to begin the rest of my life. Instead, Julian, my groom–to–be, took the microphone and shattered it.
He threw the diamond ring that was meant for my finger to the floor. “I gave your so many chances to be honest with me, Elara, but you kept lying!”
I was bewildered. “Lying about what?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the stunned crowd, “I regret to inform you that the wedding is off. It seems Ms. Hayes here has found comfort in anot- her man’s arms. The child she is carrying is not mine!”
With that, he flung a stack of photographs at my face. They scattered across the floor at my feet–intimate, compromising pictures of me in bed with a man I had
never seen before.
A gasp rippled through the guests. Julian’s parents wore masks of fury, while my own parents‘ faces burned with shame.
“Those aren’t real!” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “I don’t know that man!”
But Julian’s eyes were cold steel. “The Vances have a legacy to protect. I will not marry a woman with a divided heart, and I certainly won’t raise another man’s
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bastard child!” He turned, took his young assistant’s hand, and walked off the
stage.
The groom was gone. The wedding was over. My parents, after slapping me
hard across the face, rushed after the Vances, leaving me alone amidst the scat-
tered lies, the target of a hundred pairs of judging eyes.
The day before I left New York for good, Julian’s mother requested a me C
She surveyed me from across a small café table, her expression unreadable. Julian’s behavior was in poor taste,” she began, her tone measured. “This was a
private matter that should have been handled discreetly, not turned into a public spectacle.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea. “And yes, we know the photos were doctored. Julian is a good boy, but he can be naive. He was manipulated.
His father and I have taken him to task for his outburst.”
Her tone shifted, becoming sharp as glass. “However, the damage to his reputat-
ion is done. You know Julian is the sole heir to the Vance Corporation. He cann- ot afford the slightest hint of scandal. He needs a partner who supports him,
who is unimpeachable.”
I understood her meaning perfectly and said nothing.
She slid a bank card across the table. “This is three million dollars. Get rid of the
baby.”
I stared at the card. “What does he think?” I managed to ask.
A small, thin smile touched her lips. “My son? Did you see his assistant at the party? Melissa Monroe. A Cambridge PhD. She will be Julian’s future wife. As you know, our family has traditional values. We cannot have a daughter–in–law
with your… history.”
But I knew. It wasn’t about my manufactured history. It was about securing a powerful alliance. Even if it meant sacrificing their own grandchild.
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“Elara, are you even listening to me?
Jessica’s angry voice pulled me from the memory. “My brother is a huge succe ss, and he’s still obsessed with you. All you have to do is say you’re sorry, and you can have it all back”
I looked at her, this woman so lost in her own self–serving fantas, ing but pity,
Inoth
“No, thank you,” I said, my voice clear and steady. Tim very happy now. And do t need your brother’s forgiveness.”
With that, I turned and walked toward the taxi stand
“You’ll regret this, Elara!” she screamed after me. “Without my brother, you’re nothing! You’ll be stuck with that poor, pathetic husband of yours for the rest of your life!*
I didn’t look back. Everyone once thought I couldn’t live without Julian Vance. But the world keeps spinning, with or without any single person in it.
Soon, I arrived at the preschool. Across the street, I saw my daughter, Lily, laugh- ing as she and her friends played with a jump rope. Her smile was pure sunshi- ne. A warmth spread through my chest, and I started to cross toward her.
Suddenly, I was slammed against a brick wall.
“Elara, I can’t believe you’d stoop to such a childish game just to get back at me.”
I looked up. The man pinning me to the wall was impossibly handsome, dressed in a tailored suit that looked like it had just come from a boardroom.
It was my ex–fiancé, Julian.
Seeing him after seven years was disorienting. We’d grown up together, our
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houses separated only by a quiet suburban street. We were inseparable. He’d transformed himself from a slacker to a top student just to get into the same
university as me, even turning down a scholarship to study abroad. Everyone
said he was crazy about me. And I, in turn, had given up a lucrative career to
support his.
When his work became all–consuming, I was the one who broug
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cooked meals, who listened to his frustrations, who made sure he neve
worry about a thing. Slowly, in the eyes of others, I went from his girlfriend to h
devoted follower. We used to laugh it off.
Then Melissa Monroe appeared. His new assistant. Capable, gentle, beautiful.
At first, I paid her no mind. Julian had always been surrounded by impressive
women, but his eyes had only ever been for me.
Until they weren’t. Their private messages became more frequent. One afterno-
on, I left my phone at his office by mistake. When I went back to get it, I heard
Melissa’s voice from inside his office.
*Julian,” she was saying, holding my phone, “Elara’s phone is here. I accidentally
saw a new message… from someone saved as ‘My Darling‘.”
She looked up and saw me, then had the audacity to feign embarrassment. “Oh,
Elara, I am so sorry! I wasn’t trying to snoop, I was just curious.”
Julian’s face went dark.
“She’s a female friend,” I explained. “She uses a male profile for her work.” I even
played a voice note from our chat to prove it. But as the clear, feminine voice filled the room, Julian just stared at me, his face an unreadable mask.
After that, a wall of ice grew between us. My attempts to talk were always brus- hed aside with the excuse of “work.” Meanwhile, Melissa was always there, offer- ing him comfort and support. The day before our engagement party, she sent me a photo: Julian, asleep beside her, dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes.
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Melissa’s expression in the photo was one of smug triumph. A voice message followed. “Julian’s been under so much stress with work lately,” she cooed. “Try
not to upset him.”
My mind reeled, but I told myself he was just exhausted from work, that he’d had
too much to drink. I spent right up until the ceremony trying to bri
the gap between us, unwilling to let a misunderstanding destroy a twenty–ye
I never imagined he would use a stranger’s lies to publicly humiliate me, to ab
ndon me on what should have been the happiest day of my life.
And now, here he was, his eyes bloodshot with a terrifying intensity.
“You run off with my daughter for seven years, Elara, and you have nothing to
say for yourself?”
“Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice cold, “the child you’re referring to is gone.”
“Enough, Elara!” he snarled, his composure cracking. “Not only did you cheat on
me with some lowlife, you took my mother’s money and left me, and now you’re
trying to make my daughter call another man ‘daddy‘!”
Before I could react, he lunged past me and snatched Lily.
“What are you doing?!” I screamed, my blood running cold.
He ignored me, turning to my terrified, sobbing daughter. “Shh, don’t cry,” he cro-
oned. “Daddy’s taking you home.”
Lily’s cries intensified into heart–wrenching wails. “You’re not my daddy! I want my mommy!” She struggled in his arms, her face turning red as she gasped for
air.
A spear of panic pierced my heart. “Julian, give her back to me!” I lunged for her, but he shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the pavement.
He looked down at me, his face twisted with rage. “You ran away with my child.
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Why should I give her back to you now?”
Ignoring the scrape on my knee, I scrambled up and charged toward him again. This time, an arm shot out and grabbed me. It was Jessica.
She sneered, her eyes filled with contempt. “I’ve seen your type before, Elara.
Using a child to claw your way back into wealth. You’re just playing
She tightened her grip. “I’m telling you, you are not taking a Vance chil
re today!”
get.”
Whe
As she spoke, Julian moved toward his car, still holding my screaming daughter.
Just as he reached for the door handle, he glanced back at me.
“If you want your daughter back, divorce that nobody. No daughter of mine will
call another man father.”
In that same instant, a black Rolls–Royce appeared out of nowhere, speeding
directly toward Julian’s car. My heart leaped into my throat.
Julian froze, his legs visibly buckling. His grip on Lily slackened for just a seco- nd, and it was all she needed. She wriggled free, stumbling toward me, crying” Mommy!” as I rushed to scoop her into my arms and shield her with my body.
The Rolls–Royce screeched to a halt, its bumper less than an inch from Julian’s car. The driver had incredible skill.
Julian, recovering from the shock, immediately tried to approach us again. He plastered a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “Come here, sweetheart,” he coaxed, “Daddy will take you to Disneyland. We’ll go to the aquarium restaurant and see the dolphins.”
It was a pathetic attempt. What he didn’t know was that these things were not
extravagant treats for my daughter; they were part of her normal life. More impo-
rtantly, my husband and I had drilled stranger safety into her from the moment she could talk. Even if she’d never been to Disneyland, she would never go with
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him.
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His plan was doomed. Seeing that his false kindness wasn’t working, the mask fell away. He lunged for us.
I shut my eyes, clutching Lily tightly as she let out a terrified shriek. But the imp-
act never came.
I opened my eyes. A man stood between us and Julian, his hand clamped firmly on Julian’s arm, stopping him cold. The man was tall and impeccably dressed, with a face so handsome it seemed carved from marble.
It was my husband, Adrian Hale.
