My Wedding Gift: His Public Execution

Ten days before my wedding, I learned my fiancé-the man who swore to heal my abandonment issues-was cheating for a "final taste of freedom."

His betrayal cost me our unborn child, and then he had the audacity to beg me to give my blood to save his mistress's life.

He expected to see me walking down the aisle, but I planned a different kind of show: a wedding gift that would be his public execution.

Chapter 1

Elaina Higgins POV:

Ten days before my wedding, I found a single, long blonde hair on my fiancé' s suit jacket.

It wasn't mine.

My hair is the color of dark chocolate, a stark contrast to the platinum strand clinging to the expensive wool of Derek' s lapel. I was in our walk-in closet, a space that smelled of his cologne and my perfume, a symphony of our six years together. The air was thick with anticipation. Our wedding invitations sat in a pristine stack on the mahogany island, their gold calligraphy gleaming under the soft lights. Everything was perfect. Almost.

I plucked the hair from the fabric, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. It was unnaturally bright, almost white. A cold dread, sharp and unwelcome, snaked its way up my spine.

It's nothing, I told myself. He' s a tech CEO. He meets dozens of people every day. A hug, a handshake, a crowded elevator. There were a million innocent explanations.

But my heart, that traitorous muscle in my chest, began to hammer against my ribs. It knew. It remembered the hollow ache of abandonment left by my father, a wound that had never truly healed. That wound made loyalty not just a preference, but a necessity for my survival. Derek knew that. He had spent years convincing me he was the one man who would never leave.

"I will be your rock, Elaina," he'd promised, his charismatic smile and earnest brown eyes melting the walls I' d built around myself. "I will never, ever let you down."

The memory felt like a lie now, tainted by this single, shimmering thread of deceit.

I needed to ask him. I needed to see his face when he explained it away, to let his reassurances wash over my fear. I walked out of the closet, the suit jacket still in my hand, my steps silent on the plush carpet. His study door was slightly ajar, and I heard voices from within. It was Derek and his best man, Mark.

I paused, my hand raised to knock, when Mark's laughter floated out, laced with a cynical edge.

"Seriously, man? Ten days before the wedding? You're playing with fire."

My blood ran cold. The air thickened, pressing in on me until it was hard to breathe.

"It's not a big deal," Derek' s voice was smooth, confident, the same voice that had whispered promises to me just last night. "It' s just a pre-marital fling. A final taste of freedom."

A strangled sound escaped my throat, but I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle it. My body went rigid, every muscle screaming in protest.

"A 'taste of freedom'?" Mark sounded incredulous. "The 'taste' is a social media influencer with half a million followers. Cory Pennington is not exactly discreet."

A wave of nausea crashed over me. Cory Pennington. I knew the name. Her perfect, surgically enhanced face and impossibly toned body were all over Instagram, usually draped in designer clothes and leaning against luxury cars. Derek had even liked a few of her posts, claiming he was just "admiring the photography."

"She's a firecracker," Derek said, a low chuckle in his voice that made my stomach clench. "Exactly what I need right now. A little excitement."

"And Elaina?" Mark' s voice was softer now, tinged with something like concern. "What about her? She' s a good woman, Derek. She' s been through enough."

The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. The world seemed to stop spinning. I held my breath, praying, begging for him to say the right thing. To defend me. To defend us.

"Elaina is... predictable," Derek finally said, and the word landed like a physical blow. "She's wonderful, of course. Loyal. Kind. But ever since her father left, she's had this... reservation. This quiet sadness. It's exhausting sometimes. I need someone who is just fun, no strings attached. Cory is that. Once we' re married, I' ll be the perfect husband. This is just getting it out of my system."

My vision blurred. The walls of the hallway seemed to close in on me. He had taken the deepest wound of my soul, the very trauma he had sworn to protect, and twisted it into an excuse for his betrayal. He wasn't just cheating on me; he was blaming me for it.

The suit jacket slipped from my numb fingers and fell to the floor in a silent heap.

The love I had for him, a warm and steady flame I had nurtured for six years, was extinguished in that single, brutal moment. All that remained were cold, hard ashes.

I turned and walked away, my movements stiff, robotic. I didn't run. I didn't cry. A chilling, methodical coldness settled over me.

I went back to our bedroom, pulled out my laptop, and booked a one-way ticket to Portland, Oregon. I had an old apartment there, a safety net my mother had left me, one I' d kept despite Derek' s insistence that we sell it. "You don't need a backup plan when you have me," he'd said. The irony was a bitter pill.

The flight was for ten days from now. Wedding day.

He wanted a taste of freedom. I would give him a lifetime of it.

And I swore to myself, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that Derek Gomez would never see me again.

Elaina Higgins POV:

The ghost of my father' s abandonment had haunted me for twenty years. He didn' t just leave my mother and me; he vanished, erasing himself from our lives as if we were a mistake he was correcting. My mother, a woman of incredible strength, withered under the weight of his departure. She passed away when I was nineteen, leaving me with a trust fund, the apartment in Portland, and a deep, abiding fear of being left behind.

The only tangible piece of her I had left was her wedding dress. A beautiful, handmade lace gown she had designed herself. "One day, my darling," she'd whispered, her voice weak but full of love, "you will wear this, and you will marry a man who deserves every ounce of your beautiful heart."

Derek Gomez found me when my heart was still a fortress of grief and suspicion. He was relentless. For six years, he pursued me with a single-minded devotion that slowly chipped away at my defenses. He learned my coffee order, remembered the names of my favorite artists, and sat with me through long, silent nights when the grief was too heavy to bear.

I remember the day I finally told him about my father. We were sitting on a park bench, the autumn leaves falling around us like golden tears. I laid bare my deepest fear, the ugly, terrified part of me that believed everyone I loved would eventually leave.

He took my hands, his own warm and steady, and looked directly into my eyes. His voice was thick with emotion. "Elaina, I swear to you, on my life, I will never be that man. I will never leave you. I will spend the rest of my life proving that you are the only one I will ever want."

That was the moment I let him in. That was the moment I started to believe in a future.

Now, his words echoed in the hollow cavern of my chest, a cruel mockery of the promises I had clung to. He hadn't just used my trauma as an excuse; he had weaponized it. The very vulnerability he swore to protect was now the justification for his betrayal.

His claim that I was "predictable" and "sad" sliced deeper than any physical wound could. Every word I had overheard was a poisoned dart, lodging itself in my soul.

Just this morning, he had kissed me goodbye, his lips warm against mine, and whispered, "Counting down the seconds until you're my wife." He was a phenomenal actor. The realization was chilling. The man I was set to marry was a stranger, a master of deceit hiding behind a mask of devotion.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

After booking my flight, my phone buzzed incessantly. A dozen texts from Derek, each one more frantic than the last.

Where are you? I came out and you were gone.

Baby, is everything okay? Call me.

Elaina, you' re scaring me. Please.

I shut the phone off and shoved it into my purse. I couldn't go back to that house, not yet. I walked aimlessly through the city streets, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. I was so lost in my own storm of pain that I didn't see the cyclist until he was nearly on top of me.

He swerved, shouting something I didn't register. I stumbled back, my ankle twisting, and fell hard onto the pavement. A sharp pain shot up my leg. Before I could even process what happened, a car screeched to a halt beside me.

The door flew open and Derek was there, his face a mask of terror.

"Elaina! Oh my God, are you alright?" He knelt beside me, his hands hovering over me as if he were afraid to touch me. He helped me sit up, his touch surprisingly gentle. "What were you thinking, walking into the street like that?"

I stared at him, my mind a maelstrom of confusion and disgust. He looked so genuinely worried. The concern in his eyes was the same look he' d given me for ten years. For a dizzying moment, I almost believed it was real. I almost believed I had imagined the conversation, the blonde hair, the betrayal.

"I... I wasn't paying attention," I stammered, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue.

He helped me to my feet, his arm securely around my waist. "You've been acting strange all day. What's wrong, baby? You can tell me anything."

He looked into my eyes, and for a split second, I saw the man I fell in love with. The man who wooed me with his persistence, who made me believe in loyalty again. The man who once drove three hours in a snowstorm just to bring me a specific brand of soup when I was sick. How could that man and the monster from the study be the same person?

His concern felt like another layer of his elaborate performance, a finely crafted illusion. I was just another project, another acquisition.

"I'm just stressed," I said, my voice flat. "The wedding."

Relief washed over his features, so palpable it was sickening. "Of course. I get it. Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything." He squeezed me tighter, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "I love you so much, Elaina. Don't you ever forget that."

He guided me back to our apartment, his touch tender, his words a balm on a wound he himself had inflicted. He drew a warm bath for me, ordering my favorite takeout without me even having to ask.

As I soaked in the tub, trying to soothe the throbbing in my ankle and the raging inferno in my heart, I felt a tear finally escape and trace a hot path down my cheek. He was so good at this. So perfect. It would have been so easy to believe him, to dismiss my fears and fall back into the comfortable lie of our life together.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

Later, as he was fussing over me on the couch, his phone lit up on the coffee table. A text message. I saw the preview for a fraction of a second before he snatched it up. It was a photo of a woman in lingerie-Cory Pennington-with the caption: Missing you.

His eyes, when they flicked up to meet mine, held a flicker of something I hadn't seen before. A flash of raw, undisguised lust. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his signature loving gaze.

"Urgent work thing," he said, his voice smooth as silk as he stood up. "A server crashed. I have to go deal with it. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my head so his lips met my cheek. He paused for a moment, then straightened up and left without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, a violent wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was sick, my body convulsing as I emptied the contents of my stomach, and my heart, into the cold, white porcelain.

Elaina Higgins POV:

Derek thought I was asleep on the couch when he returned hours later, smelling faintly of a woman' s perfume that was definitely not mine. He gently scooped me into his arms and carried me to our bed, his movements practiced and tender. The sheer hypocrisy of it made my skin crawl. He tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and whispered, "Sweet dreams, my love."

The dreams that came were anything but sweet. They were a chaotic montage of my father' s smiling face turning cruel, of Derek' s promises shattering like glass, and of Cory Pennington' s laughter echoing in the darkness.

I woke up shivering, drenched in a cold sweat. Derek was sleeping beside me, one arm thrown protectively over my waist. His breathing was deep and even. He looked peaceful, innocent. A monster in repose.

Gently, I slipped out from under his arm and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. His phone was on the counter where he' d left it. It was a foolish, impulsive act, born of a desperate need for confirmation of what I already knew. My hands trembled as I picked it up. It wasn't password protected. Of course not. He was that arrogant.

His text messages with Cory were right at the top. I scrolled, my heart pounding a sick rhythm against my ribs. It was worse than I could have imagined. Explicit photos, crude fantasies, plans for their next tryst. He had been with her tonight, at a hotel just a few blocks away. He had left me, injured and supposedly stressed, to be with her.

There was one exchange that made the breath catch in my throat.

Cory: Is she really that boring in bed?

Derek: Let's just say she' s a classic painting. Beautiful to look at, but you don't really want to touch it. You're a wildfire, baby. And I love getting burned.

The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the tile floor. A classic painting. Untouchable. The first time we' d been together, he had been so patient, so reverent. He' d traced the lines of my body with his fingertips and told me I was a masterpiece. "I will spend my life cherishing you, Elaina," he had vowed.

Another lie. All of it.

I stumbled back against the counter, my legs giving out from under me. The pain in my chest was immense, a physical weight pressing down, making it impossible to breathe. He hadn't just betrayed me; he had desecrated every sacred memory we had shared. He had taken our intimacy and twisted it into a punchline for his mistress.

Who was this man? The loving fiancé who held me when I had nightmares? The tech genius praised by magazines? Or the callous stranger who mocked my deepest insecurities to another woman?

I couldn't reconcile the two. The man I had loved for a decade was a phantom, an illusion I had desperately wanted to believe in.

The sound of the phone hitting the floor must have woken him. Footsteps padded down the hall. "Elaina? Everything okay?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was drowning in a sea of his deceit.

He appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep, his eyes full of concern. He saw the phone on the floor, then looked at my face. The color drained from his. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes.

"Elaina..." he began, taking a step toward me.

"Don't," I whispered, my voice raw. I held up a hand, a feeble shield against the torrent of lies I knew was coming. "Don't you dare touch me."

He froze, his expression shifting from panic to a carefully constructed mask of contrition. He knelt, not before me, but to pick up his phone. He was protecting his secrets, not begging for my forgiveness.

"Baby, it's not what you think," he said, his voice low and pleading. "She means nothing to me. It was a stupid mistake. I was stressed, the wedding, the pressure..."

He was already spinning the narrative, painting himself as the victim. I just stared at him, my heart a dead, heavy thing in my chest. I felt nothing but a vast, empty coldness.

"I'm so sorry," he continued, taking another step closer. "I'll end it. Right now. I'll never speak to her again. Please, Elaina. Don't let this ruin us. We have so much to look forward to."

He reached for me then, and I flinched away as if his touch were fire.

The look of hurt that crossed his face was so convincing it was almost comical. He thought a few pretty words and a sad expression could erase this. He had no idea what he had done. He hadn't just broken a promise. He had shattered the very foundation of my world.

"I'm going to stay in the guest room," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "I need some space."

I turned and walked away, not waiting for his reply. I could feel his eyes on my back, but I didn't look back. I closed the guest room door behind me and slid to the floor, the silent sobs finally breaking free, shaking my entire body with their force. It wasn't just the end of a relationship; it was the death of a dream. And I was completely, utterly alone in the wreckage.