The Songbird's Revenge: How I Became His Aunt

Three years ago, I was on top of the world.

Engaged to Caleb Scott, pregnant with his child, I, an orphan from foster care, felt like I was living a fairytale at our Belle Meade mansion engagement party.

Then, his childhood friend Jennifer Lawrence, a shadow lurking over our relationship, faked a deadly allergic reaction, screaming I had poisoned her drink.

Caleb turned on me in an instant, his face contorted with rage, tearing my wedding dress to shreds, yelling for security to drag me out like trash.

The next day, he forced me to abort our baby, spitting that a "venomous, scheming woman" like me was unfit to carry a Scott child.

He slapped me with aggravated assault charges, leaving me utterly broken, homeless, and facing prison, a pariah in Nashville society.

How could he believe such a monstrous lie? How could he destroy my life, our child, without a moment of doubt?

Just as I lay shattered in a dark alley, a stranger offered a hand. Now, three years later, I' m back in Nashville, not as his victim, but as Mrs. Andrew Scott... Caleb' s aunt.

Three years.

That' s how long it had been since I' d seen Caleb Scott.

The downtown Nashville cafe was crowded, the air thick with the smell of coffee and rain. I was just grabbing a latte before a meeting when I heard his voice.

"Gabrielle? Gabrielle Johns? Is that really you?"

I turned slowly. He looked the same. Arrogant, handsome, with that easy smile that used to make my world spin. He was standing there with Jennifer Lawrence, who was clinging to his arm, a smug look on her perfectly made-up face.

My heart didn' t flutter. It didn' t ache. It just felt... cold.

Caleb' s eyes scanned my simple black dress, my plain leather bag. A look of pity crossed his face.

"Wow. It is you. I heard you were back in town, working some dead-end job."

Jennifer smirked. "Still trying to make it as a singer, I assume? How' s that going for you, darling?"

I ignored her and looked directly at Caleb.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice as if he were doing me a huge favor.

"Look, Gabrielle. I' m willing to be the bigger person here. I know things ended badly."

He gestured vaguely. "That whole poisoning thing... it was a mess. But I' ve been thinking. I' ll have my lawyers drop the pending lawsuit against you."

I raised an eyebrow. The lawsuit he' d filed to ruin me, which had been dismissed years ago.

"And," he continued, his voice dripping with false generosity, "if you make a public apology to Jennifer, for the pain and suffering you caused her, I' ll even put in a good word for you. Maybe get you a gig singing in some hotel lobby. Allow you back into Nashville society."

He smiled, expecting gratitude. He expected the same broken girl he had thrown out of his mansion three years ago.

I let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a sound that held no humor.

He frowned, confused. "What' s so funny?"

I took a slow sip of my latte, holding his gaze over the rim of the cup.

"The lawsuit was dropped three years ago, Caleb. And I don' t need your help."

I placed the cup down and smoothed the front of my dress.

"But you' re right about one thing. I might still be a Mrs. Scott."

His face lit up with a disgusting, possessive pride. He thought I' d finally come to my senses, that I was still clinging to his name.

I leaned in, my voice low and clear.

"But from now on, you' ll have to call me 'Aunt' ."

The color drained from Caleb' s face. Jennifer' s jaw dropped.

"What... what did you just say?" he stammered.

Before I could answer, the memory hit me, sharp and brutal.

Three years ago. The Belle Meade mansion. It was our engagement party. I was twenty-one, pregnant with his child, and so deeply in love I thought my heart would burst. He' d made such a show of it all, defying his powerful family to be with me, an orphan from the foster care system. I really believed it was a fairy tale.

I was wearing a custom designer gown, a gift from him. I felt like a princess.

Then Jennifer, his childhood friend, had just returned from Europe. She' d been a shadow over our relationship from the moment she got back, always there, always needing Caleb for something, always reminding me that I was an outsider.

That night, she raised a glass for a toast. She took a sip of her champagne, her eyes locked on me. Then she started coughing. Her face turned red, her throat swelled. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

"The shrimp... she put shrimp in my drink," someone screamed.

All eyes turned to me. I had handed her the glass. I didn' t know she had a deadly shellfish allergy. I didn' t put anything in her drink.

But Caleb didn' t ask. He didn' t wait.

He looked at me, his face twisted with rage and public humiliation.

"You bitch," he snarled, his voice echoing through the silent, horrified crowd.

He grabbed the front of my dress, the delicate fabric I had treasured, and ripped it from my shoulder down to my waist. The sound was like a gunshot. I was exposed, shamed in front of all of Nashville' s elite.

"Get her out of my house!" he roared.

Security guards grabbed my arms. I was crying, pleading with him.

"Caleb, no! I didn' t do it! I swear! Please, believe me!"

He just stared at me with cold, dead eyes. Then he turned his back on me and rushed to Jennifer' s side, scooping her into his arms and yelling for someone to call an ambulance.

They dragged me out of the mansion and threw me onto the wet pavement of the street, my beautiful dress in tatters, my world shattered.

That was the last I saw of him. Until today.

The memory was so vivid it felt like it was happening all over again. The shame. The betrayal. The absolute heartbreak.

But the worst was yet to come. The next day, he found me at my tiny apartment. He didn' t come to apologize. He came with an ultimatum.

He dragged me to a private clinic. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

"You' re having an abortion."

I stared at him, my hand flying to my stomach. "No. Caleb, no. This is our baby."

"A venomous, scheming woman like you is unfit to carry a Scott child," he said, his words cutting deeper than any knife. "You tried to murder Jennifer. You think I' d let my child be raised by a monster?"

He didn' t listen to my sobs, my begging. He held me down while the doctor administered the anesthetic. He forced me to lose our child.

Afterward, he didn' t even look at me. He just had his lawyers serve me with papers. I was being charged with aggravated assault.