His Poisoned Love, My Shattered Heart

For three years, I flew across the Atlantic for my fiancé, Dale. He was a brilliant tech CEO who swore he'd travel to the ends of the earth for me, saving a thousand airline tickets as "proof of his love."

But when I arrived a day early to surprise him, I overheard him confessing to our friends.

"Our relationship is exhausting me, and my love for her is draining away."

His words were just the beginning. I soon discovered his affair with a young intern, Jetta. When she drugged me, sending me into anaphylactic shock, Dale' s only punishment for her was docking half a day's pay.

He then took Jetta on a lavish vacation while I recovered alone in a hospital bed, his excuse being that I had "provoked" her.

The man who once showered me with diamonds and promises now defended my attacker. His love, once my bedrock, had become a poison.

As I stood at the airport gate, I sent him one last email with proof of everything. Then, I snapped my SIM card in half and boarded a flight to Iceland, disappearing from his life for good.

Chapter 1

Faith Frazier POV:

"Our relationship is exhausting me, and my love for her is draining away."

Dale's voice, usually a warm rumble that calmed every fear, sliced through me like ice. It was low, almost a whisper, but it landed in the quiet room with the force of a bomb. I stood frozen in the hallway, my hand still reaching for the doorknob, the surprise visit I' d planned for him turning into a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

Just a few short hours ago, I felt a familiar flutter in my chest. I was on a red-eye flight, speeding across the Atlantic, eager to step off the plane and into Dale's arms. For three years, our long-distance love had been fueled by these flights, by our shared belief that distance couldn't break us. Every goodbye was a promise of a return, every return a celebration of our unwavering bond. Dale, a brilliant tech CEO, had poured his heart into our relationship, flying out to see me almost every other week, despite his grueling schedule. He made it seem effortless, a testament to his boundless love. Each visit, though fleeting, was a whirlwind of stolen moments, a frantic attempt to cram a lifetime of affection into a few days. He'd always tell me, his voice deep and sincere, that he' d travel to the ends of the earth for me, that I was worth every mile.

His gifts were legendary among my friends. Not just the lavish, jaw-dropping diamonds and designer bags, but the small, perfectly chosen tokens – a first edition of a book I mentioned once, a tiny porcelain bird from a market stall I' d admired in passing. He seemed to know my deepest desires before I even spoke them. His love felt like a constant, a bedrock of my existence. It was a love that had burned so brightly, so consistently, for three long years. I thought it was unshakable.

I had arrived in New York a day early, hoping to surprise him. My friends, who were gathered in his living room, were praising him, talking about how devoted he was, how lucky I was to have a man who never wavered. Their admiration was a sweet, familiar hum in the background, a soundtrack to my perfect life.

Then came his words. "My love is draining away."

The air left my lungs. My heart, which had been thrumming with anticipation moments before, felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. It was a pain so sharp, so sudden, it made me gasp. The world around me dimmed, the vibrant party noises of a moment ago dissolving into a dull roar. The silence that followed his confession was heavy, suffocating.

My friends stammered, trying to laugh it off, asking if he was joking. They reminded him of all his grand gestures, the constant flights, the extravagant gifts, the way he always seemed to cherish me. They rattled off examples, each one a fresh stab to my gut. Dale just looked at them, his eyes distant, his voice flat. "I don't know," he said. "I'm just so tired. These past three years... it' s been exhausting." He spoke of the lonely flights, the pressure of finding the perfect gift every time, the relentless grind of keeping a long-distance relationship alive while running a global company. "I still love her, I think," he admitted, his voice barely audible, "but it' s almost gone. It's almost all used up."

My friends exchanged nervous glances, awkwardly trying to change the subject. But their words were just background noise to the roaring in my ears. My mind went blank. I don't remember how I slipped away from the door, how I managed to find myself outside in the cool evening air. A terrifying thought flickered through my mind: would it all have been perfect if I hadn' t come home early? If I hadn' t heard him?

But there are no "ifs."

My phone buzzed in my hand, startling me. It was Dale. I saw him then, through the glass doors, searching the room, a flicker of anxiety on his face. My heart clenched again, but this time it was a mix of fear and something else, something cold. I ducked into a shadowy corner, my throat tightening, and answered the call.

"Faith? Are you back already?" His voice was hurried, laced with a concern that felt hollow now.

My nose burned, and my eyes stung, but I forced back the sob rising in my throat. "Yeah, I just decided to surprise you," I lied, my voice thin and reedy.

The tension in his brow eased. "Okay, I'm coming home then." His tone was soft, reassuring, but it felt like a trap.

Then, she burst into the room. A young woman, all big eyes and eager smiles, launched herself into Dale' s arms. My breath caught. He quickly covered the phone's mouthpiece, a tell-tale sign of his secret. His eyes, which had just been filled with concern for me, now softened with affection as he gently ruffled her hair. "Duty calls," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone I' d never heard before. "Just work stuff."

He was lying. The young woman' s cheeks were flushed, a deep, rosy red that had nothing to do with surprise. My world spun. The ground beneath me seemed to disappear, leaving me plummeting into a frozen void.

Faith Frazier POV:

The young woman who had just landed in Dale's arms was Jetta Mcpherson, a junior coder from his company. I' d seen her before, in passing, at company events. He had initially dismissed her, almost with a sneer, as too green, too eager. But that had changed. I remembered a conversation we' d had, just a few months ago, on my birthday. He was supposed to be celebrating with me, but instead, he spent half the night on his laptop, chatting with Jetta about some project. He praised her intelligence, her ambition, her "fresh perspective."

"Can we please talk about something else?" I'd asked, my voice tight with an unfamiliar insecurity.

He' d stopped, his smile fading, and simply said, "Fine." The topic never came up again, not directly. But now I understood why. He had told me, weeks later, that Jetta had been transferred to another team, that their connection was purely professional and now severed.

He had lied. My stomach churned with the bitter taste of betrayal.

The night outside was cold, a light snow beginning to fall. I walked home in a daze, the flakes melting on my cheeks, indistinguishable from the tears that had begun to stream down my face. My fingers fumbled with the keypad, punching in the familiar code to our penthouse. The door clicked open. He hadn't changed it. A tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered within me, quickly drowned by the crushing weight of reality.

The apartment was warm, the underfloor heating radiating a comforting heat that only made the cold knot in my chest ache more. My gaze fell on the glass display cabinet in the living room. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, my heart contracting with each passing second. Then, without warning, the tears came, hot and furious, blurring my vision.

Inside the cabinet, bathed in a soft, warm glow, was a thick stack of airline tickets. Each one meticulously numbered. There were nearly a thousand. "Proof of my love," he had called them, his eyes twinkling with pride. "When I hit a thousand, I'm going to propose."

I remembered the countless nights I had spent in London, studying relentlessly, sacrificing sleep to finish my architecture fellowship early. My friends teased me for burying myself in books, for not enjoying the vibrant city life. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to be back in his arms, to build a future with him. I remembered the time I got sick, a fever so high I could barely stand. I swallowed extra fever reducers, plastered a smile on my face during our video calls, and told him how much I missed him. Every sacrifice, every ounce of effort, was for him, for us. I had finally achieved my goal, returned home, earlier than expected, my heart full of dreams.

But reality was a cruel mistress. Everything was too late. His love, once so pure, had curdled into something unrecognizable.

The front door opened then, and Dale stepped in, his eyes wide with concern when he saw me crumpled on the floor, shaking. "Faith? What's wrong?" he rushed forward, trying to pull me into his arms.

I pushed him away, the touch burning my skin. My eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into my palms. I fought for control, my voice a ragged whisper. "I heard her. On the phone. Who was that, Dale?" My voice trembled. "Why were you meeting a woman late at night?"

He met my gaze. And in his eyes, I saw it: a chilling blend of indifference, coldness, and profound weariness. His face hardened. "Do we have to do this right now?" he asked, his voice flat as he stepped back, creating a chasm between us. "She's just a colleague. Nothing more."

A colleague? My mind screamed. A colleague you embrace, a colleague you lie about?

He motioned to a small gift box and a beautifully decorated cake on the coffee table. "It's for you. I was coming home to surprise you."

My anger flickered, replaced by a momentary surge of confusion and a painful mix of hope and heartbreak. Could I have been wrong?

But then his voice, cold and sharp, sliced through my fragile hope. "You're being unreasonable, Faith. You have no right to accuse Jetta like that. She's so much more ambitious, more understanding. She never makes a fuss." He picked up the box and the cake, his jaw tight. "If you keep this up, I'll get tired too."

With a sudden, furious gesture, he threw the gifts into the trashcan. The delicate cake splattered, a messy ruin, just like our love.

Faith Frazier POV:

I was never one for dramatics. I prided myself on my rationality, my calm demeanor. But that night, sleep offered no escape. I thrashed in bed, locked in a furious, tear-soaked argument with Dale in my dreams.

"You said you were tired, Dale!" I screamed in the dream, tears streaming down my face. "But you never told me! You let me believe everything was fine! Whose fault was it, really, that I went abroad? I went because you encouraged me, because we planned a future together!" My dream-self was a whirlwind of accusations. "Why couldn't you just tell me you were struggling? Why did you hide it?"

The dream ended as all our recent conversations did: in a cold, bitter stalemate.

I woke with a pounding headache, the phantom arguments echoing in my ears. Dale was already awake, dressed impeccably, exuding his usual charismatic aura. Our eyes met across the room, and for a long moment, we simply stared, the silence thick with unspoken words. He sighed, a weary sound. "Don't make a scene, Faith," he said, his voice implying I was already being difficult.

He knelt, and for a moment, I saw the ghost of the boy I fell in love with, his young face earnest and full of devotion. He slipped my warm boots onto my feet, his touch gentle. But the familiar flutter in my heart was gone, replaced by a dull ache of bitterness and cold.

"Jetta is just a subordinate, a colleague," he repeated, his words a hollow comfort. "I can take you to the hospital, you can see for yourself. There's nothing going on." He sounded almost convincing. "We can talk properly then."

"Okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But I have something to tell you first."

I had made my decision. I would pursue another advanced degree, at a university far from New York, a place where he had no connections, no influence. I had already booked a flight for a week later. This wasn't anger; it was a carefully considered escape. His words had been like shards of glass, embedding themselves deep in my flesh, a constant, throbbing pain. I wanted a love that was pure, untainted. If I couldn't have that, I would rather have nothing.

I wanted a clean break, for both our sakes.

The car ride to the hospital was silent. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. As we pulled up, his phone rang. I heard the muffled sound of a woman crying, a soft, pathetic wail. Dale's face immediately contorted with concern. "Something's come up," he said, his eyes already darting away from mine. "I need you to go up to the office first, I'll meet you there."

I wanted to tell him I didn't know the way, but he was already gone, his silhouette disappearing around the corner. I stood alone in the vast, empty parking lot, a sudden chill creeping into my bones. It took me a while to find my bearings, the sterile hospital environment feeling alien and overwhelming.

I finally found the right floor and approached the nurses' station. Their excited chatter carried clearly through the air. "Did you hear?" one whispered, "Mr. Atkins rushed here the moment Jetta called! She was so upset." Another chimed in, "He's so sweet. He treats her like a girlfriend."

My steps faltered. This was his "emergency."

"Apparently, he's always doting on her," a third nurse added. "Teaching her everything, hand-holding, the works. I even heard her family teasing him, asking when they were getting married!"

One nurse, a kind-faced woman, raised an eyebrow. "But doesn't he have a fiancée?"

"Oh, she's probably just some old hag he's stuck with," scoffed another. "Jetta is so much prettier, so much younger, and smart too! No wonder he prefers her."

A wave of self-loathing washed over me, threatening to consume me whole. I felt small, insignificant, unwanted. I turned, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat.

And there they were: Dale and Jetta, standing at the end of the hallway. Jetta was wearing the anniversary jacket I had bought for Dale from London, the one he had told me was "too precious" to wear, that he had "put away for safekeeping."

He had woven a web of beautiful lies, each one now tearing at my flesh, leaving me bruised and raw. Jetta, her face a picture of innocent distress, was crying softly. Dale, his eyes filled with tender affection, gently wiped her tears. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a balm. "No one will ever hurt you again, not while I'm here."

"Who was that woman on the phone last night, Dale?" Jetta asked, her voice a soft, childlike plea.

Dale hesitated, a long, agonizing silence stretching between us. Then, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, "Just a friend. No one important."