2. Betrayal Unveiled

“Peter… please,” I begged, my voice cracking, raw with desperation. “After everything I've done, how can you say this? I gave up so much for you.”

Peter smirked, leaning lazily against the dining table, his casual behavior cutting deeper than any harsh word could. His indifference mocked me, taunted me, and yet I couldn’t look away. “Gave up what, Martha?” he sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think I cared about any of that? I’ve got what I wanted, and now I’m moving on. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

My sobs faltered, replaced by a suffocating numbness that spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. I stared at him, my mind looping over the cold cruelty of his words. I’ve got what I wanted.

And then, like a cruel twist of fate, realization dawned on me.

The inheritance.

I remembered the moment clearly, just days ago, when Peter came to me with soft words and gentle promises. I had signed every document he placed before me, relinquishing control of my parents’ fortune—everything they had worked tirelessly to leave behind for me.

He promised me he wouldn’t leave. He promised he loved me.

Even now, with the truth staring back at me like a mirror I didn’t want to face, I clung to hope. “I don’t care if this is all about my parents’ fortune,” I whispered, dropping to my knees, the last shred of my dignity slipping through my fingers. Tears blurred my vision as my hands trembled, clasped together in a pitiful plea. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I’ll do anything you want.”

Peter’s smirk widened, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph. He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head as though I were some amusing spectacle. “I was never with you,” he said coldly, his words a knife to my heart. His tone carried a mocking edge, every syllable laced with disdain. “Do you have any idea how much I had to endure just to get what I wanted from you?”

The breath left my lungs as if I’d been punched. His confession shattered what little hope I had left. Endure. That was what he thought of me? That was all I had ever been to him? A hurdle. A nuisance.

The man I loved, the man I had trusted with everything, had never loved me. Every sweet word, every tender gesture, every promise, it had all been a lie. He had played his role to perfection, knowing exactly how to break through my defenses.

I stared at him, trembling, unable to form words.

“What are you waiting for, Martha?” he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient. He stepped closer, looming over me like a predator circling its prey. “Sign the papers, or I’ll make sure you don’t have a choice.”

I opened my mouth, trying to respond, to plead one last time, to tell him how much I loved him, how hard I had tried to become the woman he wanted. But my voice caught in my throat, choked by the weight of my grief.

Before I could find the strength to speak, faint laughter drifted in from the living room.

“Your wedding dress is the most exquisite I’ve seen in ages,” came a voice, smooth and familiar. It sent a chill racing down my spine. “It will be the talk of the town, no doubt.”

Another giggle followed, softer and more cheerful. “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson,” a second voice replied warmly.

My breath hitched. Wedding dress? Mrs. Henderson? The words echoed in my mind, refusing to make sense. My heart pounded as I tried to process what I was hearing. The first voice, it was Peter’s mother. But who was the other woman?

Before I could piece it together, a figure appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

She walked in confidently, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She was young, beautiful, and effortlessly elegant. Tight black leather pants hugged her slender frame, and her flowing floral chiffon top draped over her like it had been tailored for royalty. Her makeup was flawless, her lips painted a deep crimson that only emphasized the smug smile curling up at the corners of her mouth.

Her eyes met mine, and in an instant, I knew.

Peter turned toward her, his cold, detached expression melting into something warm and tender. A smile I hadn’t seen in years spread across his face as he approached her, wrapping an arm around her slim waist.

The sight of his touch, so casual, so intimate, made my stomach churn.

“My love,” he greeted her, his voice soft and affectionate as he leaned in to kiss her.

I froze, the scene before me so surreal that it felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. He had never touched me like that. Never kissed me with such unrestrained passion.

The young woman smirked at me, her expression dripping with disgust. She was confident, radiant, and utterly unapologetic.

“Peter?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the roaring in my ears. My hands clutched the divorce papers against my chest, crumpling the edges. “Who… who is she?”

Peter didn’t even glance my way. Instead, he turned to her, his gaze filled with an adoration that once belonged to me, or so I thought.

“This,” he said, his voice brimming with pride as he caressed her cheek, “is my real love. The future Mrs. Henderson.”

And with those words, the fragile remains of my world shattered.

The woman looked at me in disgust and laughed softly, her smirk growing wider. “Oh, I'm sorry he didn't tell you earlier,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’m Rachel. His fiancée and we've been together before he met you.”

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Fiancée? The words echoed in her mind, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.

Peter didn’t even flinch. Instead, he kissed her softly on the lips once more and turned to me his smile widening. “Rachel and I are getting married soon. Isn’t it wonderful?”