Her Fiancé

Chapter 2: Her Fiancé

Leah 

Today was my ex's wedding. 

My cheating, freeloading, stepsister-fucking scumbag of an ex was marrying the woman he’d been sleeping with in my bed, under my roof, after three years of letting me pay for everything. 

And he had the absolute nerve to invite me as a “special guest” just so he could watch me bleed in public.

His mistake.

I had spent every last cent of my life savings hiring the most expensive male escort the app offered. The kind of man whose profile picture was just a torso so unfair it should have come with a warning label. 

I’d specifically requested a maroon jacket to match the dress I was currently zipping myself into while trying not to hyperventilate.

I didn’t know what his face looked like. I only knew the body. And honestly? The body was half the battle. The other half was making Bryce choke on his own smugness.

“Your Uber’s here,” Megan called from the living room. “Move it. The guy might leave if you keep staring at yourself in the mirror like you’re about to commit a crime.”

“I am about to commit a crime,” I muttered, grabbing my clutch. “Emotional homicide. Wish me luck.”

“That expensive piece of man-candy is all the luck you need. Go ruin their day.”

The car ride was pure mental warfare. I kept picturing every possible face that could belong to those abs. 

Please be hot. Please be hotter than Bryce. Please look like the kind of man who could make a room full of rich people forget their own last names.

When the car pulled up to the venue, I spotted him immediately.

Maroon jacket. Broad back. Phone pressed to his ear. Even from behind he looked expensive.

I rushed over, already giving myself a mental high-five for choosing well, and poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, bro. Sorry I’m a little late.”

He froze, then turned.

I almost swallowed my tongue. Good lord. He was the kind of beautiful that made you briefly forget how to stand properly.

Dark brown eyes. Glossy black hair styled like he’d walked out of a magazine. Sharp jaw. Perfectly trimmed beard. One small stud earring that somehow made him look both dangerous and expensive. 

“Who are you?” he asked in that sexy deep baritone voice.

“Leah Byrne. I paid for your services today. You’re from the escort company, right?”

He hung up the call without looking away from me. Then he laughed. A short, surprised sound that somehow made him even hotter. “The escort company? Fascinating.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked me over like he was deciding whether I was interesting or just another client. 

I pulled out my phone and shoved the receipt and his torso photo in his face. “Gonna deny those are your abs?”

His mouth curved. “The ones in front of you look better.”

I almost said something extremely inappropriate. Time was not on my side. The wedding had already started and I had face-slapping to do.

“You remember the instructions, right? You’re my mega-rich new fiancé. You’re going to help me destroy my evil ex. Deal?”

He grinned like this was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him all year. “Deal.”

I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. He followed without protest, like he was used to being dragged into chaos by women all the time.

Just before the hall, a staff member stepped forward and offered him a black mask with both hands, bowing low.

Weird.

“No need,” I started. “He doesn’t—”

But my escort was already reaching for it. “I do need one. One of my old… clients might be inside. Recognition would ruin the game for you.”

I blinked. “Good thinking.”

He slipped the mask on. A guard nearby bowed to him so deeply I almost snorted.

“They’re bowing,” I whispered, laughing under my breath. “Think they already mistook you for an actual billionaire?”

“That works in our favor, doesn’t it?” he said, and there was something almost amused in his voice.

We walked in.

And there they were.

Bryce and Greta stood at the altar, saying their vows like they hadn’t destroyed someone’s life to get there. 

Greta’s dress was a ridiculous cloud of white silk and lace that probably cost more than my apartment. Bryce looked… happy. The kind of happy that made my stomach twist.

I stopped walking for a second.

My chest tightened so hard I forgot how to breathe properly. Three years of supporting him, believing him, loving him. And here he was, marrying the woman he’d been cheating with, in front of a room full of people who would never know what he’d done to me.

The escort’s hand settled lightly at the small of my back. “Would you like to sit?” he asked quietly, already guiding me toward an empty table near the side. He pulled the chair out for me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” I whispered. My voice shook. I hated that it shook.

He sat beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. For a moment he just watched the ceremony with me, letting the silence sit.

Then, soft enough that only I could hear. “Can I ask why you broke up? Or does the agency forbid personal questions?”

I let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “He cheated. He played me. Made me believe he was broke and helpless. I supported him for three years. Paid his rent. Bought his food. Even loaned him money for his ‘stepsister’s’ birthday gift.” My laugh this time was bitter. “Know what he said when I caught them in my bed?”

The man’s jaw tightened under the mask. “What did the little bastard say?”

“That I was boring. A dead fish in bed. Low class. That he could never show me off to his uncle. Apparently he’s going to inherit everything from some rich uncle named Preston. I sincerely hope that uncle finds out what a disaster his nephew is.”

“I’m certain the uncle never said Bryce would inherit anything,” the man said quietly. There was something knowing in his tone that I didn’t have time to unpack.

I watched them kiss. I watched the guests cheer. I watched them feed each other cake like they were the most in-love couple in the world.

I dug my nails into my thighs under the tablecloth, hard enough to leave marks, just to stay present. Just to keep from crying in front of all these people.

A warm hand closed over mine and gently pried my fingers open.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just rested his palm over my thigh, thumb moving in slow circles.

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to hurt. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t cut.”

I turned my head. Even with the mask, I could feel him watching me like he saw every crack I was trying to hide.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“No,” he said simply. “You’re not. And that’s okay.”

Before I could answer, Bryce spotted me and his smile turned vicious. He leaned over to whisper something to Greta, then took the microphone.

“Leah! So glad you could make it.” His voice boomed through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, our special guest of the evening, Leah Byrne.”

Every head in the room turned.

I felt the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes. My nails wanted to dig in again, but the escort’s hand was still there. 

I lifted my chin and smiled the sweetest, most poisonous smile I owned.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I said, voice carrying. “Looks lavish. You couldn’t possibly afford this. Who actually sponsored the wedding? Your rich uncle?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the guests. Some of them clearly already knew Bryce’s reputation.

Bryce’s smile dropped. His eyes flicked to the man beside me. “And who’s this? Your new boyfriend?”

The escort stood slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “Her fiancé, actually,” he said. “You’re the slimy ex. You live up to the description perfectly.”

Bryce’s face flushed. “You… you have a fiancé already? It’s only been three weeks. You were cheating on me?!”

The man beside me let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. “Cheating?” he repeated, tilting his head. “That’s an interesting accusation coming from a man who spent three years living off a woman he claimed to love while sleeping with his own stepsister in her bed.”

The room went very quiet.

Bryce’s mouth opened, then closed.

The escort continued, voice still pleasant, almost conversational. “You told her she was boring. Low class. That she wasn’t good enough to meet your uncle. Tell me something—did it feel powerful, saying those things while standing naked in the apartment she paid for?”

Greta’s face had gone pale under her perfect makeup. She glanced around the hall, embarrassment burned her cheeks red. 

Bryce tried to recover. “You don’t know anything about—”

“I know enough.” The man’s tone never rose. “I know you’re not a man who outgrew her. You’re a man who was never good enough for her in the first place. The only reason you’re standing up there in a tuxedo is because someone else paid for the life you were too incompetent to build yourself.”

Bryce looked like he’d been slapped.

I sat frozen, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. “Looks like you're planning to humiliate yourself today.” 

“You hired him to get back at me, didn't you?” Bryce said. “You're still not over me, Leah. That's why you're so bitter.”