Chapter 3 Don't Touch Me

My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away. Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand. Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film. Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house. An undeniable, sickening betrayal. A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder. Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage. He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury. My world crumbled. Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage. How could I have been so blind? So carelessly used? The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair. But the wedding would still proceed. Only, it wouldn't be their triumph. It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance. I would ensure their world came crashing down around them. My countdown to liberation had officially begun.

My husband, Ethan Hayes, CEO of Innovatech, ordered me to go. Not a polite request, but a summons from the reclusive billionaire, Mr. Donovan Sterling. My pregnancy made it worse. His eyes were fixed on the stock market, not on me, his pregnant wife. His assistant, Chloe Vance, stood beside him, her own stomach betraying her secret: she was pregnant with his child. It was a chilling replay of a past life, a nightmare I' d been frantically trying to escape. I handed Ethan divorce papers, but Chloe only sneered, then "accidentally" drenched me with water, her eyes fixed on my growing belly. Then Ethan, fueled by Chloe's whispered venom, shoved me into our dark, claustrophobic wine cellar. When Sterling' s men arrived, Chloe handed me a signed divorce paper, gloating, along with a bottle of water. That water was poisoned. It was meant to make me lose our baby, to destroy me, and frame Mr. Sterling. Lying on the floor of Mr. Sterling's mansion, clutching my stomach as my world went black, I wondered: how could they be so monstrously cruel? Did they truly believe they could get away with it all? Could karma truly be so blind? But they underestimated my desperation, and the silent call I made weeks ago. They didn't know I had a lifeline, a secret ally. Now, as they plan their lavish wedding, they have no idea the wronged wife they thought they'd eliminated is about to reclaim everything she ever lost.

At NovaFlight Dynamics, I was "the guy who couldn't get his fiancée to the altar." Alex Miller. My fiancée, Jessica Thorne, a co-founder, had canceled our wedding thirty-two times. I poured my genius into NovaFlight' s critical satellite launch, always putting her first, even as the 33rd date loomed. She canceled again, for Leo Maxwell, a junior engineer. That night, at the pre-launch party, Jessica, radiant, openly fed Leo a canapé. He flashed a new luxury smartwatch, mirroring hers. On our seven-year anniversary, Leo's Instagram showed them clinking champagne glasses: "Celebrating a successful partnership!" I resigned, publicly terminating our engagement. Jessica, smelling of Leo' s cologne, abandoned me for his 'crisis.' My engagement ring? Tossed aside. I threw it in the trash. At the office, Leo 'accidentally' destroyed my personal research laptop with corrosive solvent. Jessica witnessed it, then shrieked, blaming me and demanding I credit Leo for my groundbreaking designs. My very dignity was systematically dismantled. My dedication, my love, my future-all casually destroyed. The future she spoke of was a cruel, hollow joke. A dark government vehicle waited. I powered down my old phone as her casual 'raincheck' text buzzed one last time. I stepped into the car without a single look back. This wasn't an end; it was finally, unequivocally, my beginning.

My wife, a radiant pop star, stood on stage next to her indie darling, River Stone. I was in the front row, proud of her success, despite our marriage being a secret. Then the words echoed through the arena, crushing my chest: "We're expecting a baby." My world imploded. I confronted her backstage, my voice shaking, but her eyes were cold, a stranger's. "It's for River's career, Ethan. Just for show." A brutal, casual lie. Devastation consumed me, a physical blow. In my rage and pain, I leaked our secret marriage certificate. Her career imploded. River couldn't handle the hate and died. But Sera blamed me for everything. For River. For her ruined kingdom. Her revenge was absolute: the fire. My mom, my dad, Chloe, my little sister. The heat, the smoke, then nothing. My first life ended in flames, my family gone, all because of her betrayal and my desperate act. Why did she betray me with such cold calculation? Why did she value image and another man's fleeting dream over our seven years, over our vows, over our very lives? The injustice burned, the pain of losing them all was unbearable. I couldn't fathom how someone I loved could be so monstrous, so casually cruel. Then, I woke up. Sunlight streamed through the window. My phone buzzed: "Zenith Music Awards - 7 PM." Today. The day they died. But I was alive. I knew what was coming. This time, I wouldn't just survive. This time, I'd make them pay.

I woke up staring at the familiar water-stained ceiling of my teenage bedroom. My SAT scores and a local community college acceptance letter sat on my desk, marking the day I was supposed to fill out college applications. Just weeks after high school graduation, this was it. Except, it wasn't just a day. It was the day. The starting point of a previous life filled with relentless hunger, brutal beatings, and my family' s chilling neglect. A life that led, eventually, to my agonizing death. I remembered everything: my mother Brenda' s venomous hate, my father David' s chilling indifference, and my brother Kevin' s endless demands. I remembered the pregnancy, my mother's deliberate cruelty, letting me bleed out until it was too late. I died. A loud bang on the door shattered the quiet. "Sarah! Get those damn applications filled out!" Brenda's voice, a dreadful screech, tried to drag me back into the nightmare. The old fear coiled, sharp and cold, but the memory of my death and lost child burned hotter. Not this time. I would not live that life again. Unsteady on my feet, I walked to the door. "I'm not going to community college," I declared, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm applying to a four-year university. A good one. Far away." This time, I would save myself.

The moment Melanie grasped she was merely a clever piece sliding across Greyson's grand chessboard, she tore herself free without blinking. Not a day later, Greyson watched a swarm of suitors orbit her like moths around a flame; spite boiled over, and he cursed the urge to chain her wrist to his own. Bent on breaking his hold, Melanie threw everything she had at her escape, her heart aching for freedom. Greyson summoned a last reserve of strength to free her, yet five tortured minutes later he collapsed, hands shaking, begging, "If you're going, can you take me with you?"