Broken Engagement, Unleashed Heiress's Fury

My fiancé, Chadwick Steele, always treated me like a dirty secret-the nerdy brains behind his glamorous tech empire. He flaunted his affair with his mistress, Isa, while constantly reminding me I was an embarrassment he was forced to tolerate.

That all came to a head in a crowded mall. In front of everyone, he publicly broke our engagement, choosing her over me and leaving me to her mercy.

But Isa wasn't satisfied with just winning. She had Chadwick's bodyguards pin me to the floor.

She slapped me, kicked me, and then pulled out a silver letter opener. As she carved a bloody gash across my cheek, she laughed about teaching me a permanent lesson for daring to exist in her world.

I was bleeding and broken, my spirit completely shattered. I thought it was over.

Then, a custom Rolls-Royce pulled up. My mother, Frederica Mooney-the silent titan of Silicon Valley who secretly bankrolls the entire Steele family fortune-stepped out. She took one look at my face, her eyes turning to ice, and gave me the only words I needed to hear: "I give you my full permission."

Chapter 1

My fiancé, Chadwick Steele, was a beautiful lie I was tired of living, and I knew the moment I truly stopped caring about his approval, everything would change.

I clutched my phone, the screen still black after our call disconnected. I felt my jaw tighten. I had given him one last chance, a final line in the sand. "Chadwick," I said into the phone, my voice calm despite the tremor in my hand. "We need to talk about the launch event. Your... promotional strategy is getting out of hand."

His laugh on the other end was like sandpaper on my nerves, rough and dismissive. "Kelsey, darling, it' s a launch, not a coding convention. You just focus on the algorithms, okay? Leave the marketing to me and Isa."

My stomach churned. Isa. Always Isa. "It involves a public display that reflects poorly on Nexus' s reputation," I pushed back, trying to keep my voice even. "It reflects poorly on us."

"Oh, us?" His tone sharpened, laced with an irritation he barely bothered to hide. "Kelsey, let' s be real. You' re the brains, I' m the face. And Isa? She' s the sparkle. The public doesn' t want to see someone in a hoodie and glasses representing the future of tech. They want... aspiration."

The words hit me like a splash of cold water. He had always been dismissive, but to hear him explicitly state I was a liability to his image, even as his fiancée, was a new low. It wasn't just a slight; it was a rejection of who I was, of my very identity.

"You' re my fiancée, Kelsey, not my fashion consultant," he scoffed. "And frankly, your input on public relations is as relevant as your choice in clothing. Just... focus on your code. That' s what you' re good at."

Then, the click. He hung up. Just like that.

I stared at the black screen, my thumb hovering over the call button. My chest felt tight, a dull ache throbbing behind my ribs. It wasn't just the words; it was the casual cruelty, the way he could just cut me off, as if my concerns, my feelings, my very presence in his life, were nothing more than a nuisance.

He didn't even bother to save my number, or anyone else' s for that matter, in his contacts. My name always flashed up as a raw string of digits. It was a detail that used to sting, a tiny shard of glass in my heart, but now it felt like a prophecy. He never truly saw me.

A voice, sugary sweet and dripping with false concern, broke through my thoughts. "Oh, poor Kelsey, still clinging to Chadwick' s coattails?"

I looked up. Isa Jordan stood there, a vision in designer clothes, her smile painted on, her eyes narrowed with mockery. She held a tiny, sparkling clutch in one hand, her perfect nails gleaming.

"Don' t you ever get tired of being second best?" Isa purred, stepping closer. The scent of her expensive perfume, cloying and heavy, assaulted my senses. "Or maybe third. Who' s counting?"

She made a show of smoothing down the front of her impeccably tailored dress, her gaze raking over my comfortable, practical attire. My favorite dark wash jeans, a soft cashmere sweater, and my trusty, slightly scuffed sneakers. My uniform.

"Honestly, Kelsey, are you even trying anymore?" she asked, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. "Those... things you wear. It' s like you' re actively trying to look like a forgotten intern, not the fiancée of Steele Dynamics' CEO."

Her eyes lingered on my sneakers. "I mean, even the janitors in our building have better taste than that." She laughed, a short, sharp sound that echoed off the polished floors of the shopping mall. "Seriously, what are those? Discount bin specials?"

I felt a simmering heat rise in my chest. I preferred comfort. I preferred to spend my money on things that mattered, on experiences, on investments, not on fleeting trends or brand names. "They are comfortable," I said, my voice flat. "And functional. Things you probably wouldn' t understand."

Isa scoffed, flipping her perfectly styled hair. "Comfort is for people who have nothing else to offer. Brands, Kelsey, are a statement. A declaration of who you are and what you' re worth. Or, in your case, what you' re not."

I realized in that moment that my choice of clothing, my preference for substance over superficiality, was not just a personal choice to them. It was a weapon they used to diminish me, to make me feel small and insignificant. It was a reflection of everything they held dear, and everything I didn't.

"It' s amazing how much importance some people place on labels," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the anger brewing inside me. "But then again, when you have nothing else of substance to offer, I suppose a fancy label is all you' ve got."

Isa' s smile faltered, her perfectly made-up face twisting into a sneer. "Oh, please. Don' t try to pretend your lack of style is some kind of moral high ground. It' s just sad."

I took a step closer, my eyes locking with hers. "Sad? What' s truly sad is basing your entire existence on what other people think you' re worth, based on a price tag. I know my value, Isa, and it has nothing to do with what I' m wearing." I paused, letting my gaze sweep over her designer ensemble. "Or who I' m... borrowing."

Isa' s eyes blazed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean," I replied, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. "I just wonder how long it' ll be before my fiancé gets tired of his little side project."

Her face went pale, a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes before it was replaced by pure rage. "You conniving little bitch!" she shrieked, her voice echoing in the surprisingly quiet mall corridor. "You have no idea who you' re messing with!"

I raised an eyebrow, a cold sense of calm settling over me. "Oh, I think I have a very clear idea."

The challenge hung in the air, a silent declaration of war between us. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that the real fight was just beginning.