The Billionaire Fiancee's Revenge

The bachelor party shimmered like a lie dressed in gold.

Laughter spilled through Wellington's grandest hotel lounge, a room pulsing with music, money, and the unshakable illusion of happiness.

Crystal glasses clinked. Balloons floated lazily against the ceiling. The air smelled of champagne, expensive cologne, and the faint edge of something artificial,like joy bought at a price.

At the center of it all stood the man of the hour-Alexander Wellington.

Heir to a billion-dollar empire, his name carried weight in every corner of the city. Yet at that moment, sitting back in a velvet chair with his jacket undone and tie loose around his neck, he didn't look like a man chasing power. He looked...happy. He's getting married to his sweetheart tomorrow morning.

He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the bubbles rise and fade. Around him, his friends were loud and half-drunk, a blur of designer suits and careless cheer.

"To the future, Mr. Wellington!" one of them shouted, voice thick with drink. He slapped Alexander's back with the kind of affection that only comes from money and whiskey.

Alexander smirked, the corners of his mouth curving in quiet amusement.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not disappearing tomorrow."

The room erupted with another round of cheers and laughter. Someone turned the music louder. Another bottle opened with a pop that echoed off the chandelier.

And still-in the far corner,someone wasn't laughing.

Summer.

Her golden hair was tucked neatly beneath a hotel cap, her uniform crisp, black and white against the shimmer of the room. She moved with the elegance of someone who once belonged to this world, not as a worker, but as someone who'd been adored, desired, envied.

But tonight, she didn't belong.

The uniform was borrowed. Stolen, actually.

The real attendant was likely still unconscious in a supply closet, drugged just enough to sleep through the night.

No one noticed. No one looked twice at the quiet server moving through the crowd.

But if they had, they might've seen the storm in her eyes.

Summer's gaze stayed locked on Alexander-sharp, aching, burning with a pain that hadn't dulled despite time. The man she'd once dreamed of marrying stood just a few feet away, laughing, relaxed and getting married to her sister.

Kimberly.

Her name stung even in thought.

Kimberly had everything-the ring, the wealth, the title. The life Summer had built in her head for years.

Her fingers trembled. Inside her pocket sat a small glass vial, cool and fragile against her palm. Clear liquid, almost beautiful in its stillness.

She turned it slowly, her reflection rippling on its surface.

Her heart thudded. You've come this far. You can't back down now.

Her lips parted in a whisper, a vow dressed as a toast.

"To the groom."

Then she poured.

The liquid slid into the glass, disappearing beneath the bubbles. A perfect crime in a perfect glass.

She steadied her breath, lifted the tray, and crossed the room. Each step felt like walking across her own breaking heart.

"Congratulations, sir," she said softly, her voice steady though her throat ached. She extended the glass toward him with a polite smile.

Alexander's gaze flicked toward her briefly. He didn't recognize her. Of course, he wouldn't. The lighting was dim, her cap shadowed her face, and he'd buried her memory long ago.

He nodded, took the glass, and drank without hesitation.

The laughter carried on. The music pulsed. Summer stood still, watching every swallow like it was the turning of a clock counting down to justice.

At first, nothing happened. Her pulse raced. Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe I-

Then, he shifted. A faint wince crossed his face. He loosened his collar, blinked hard.

"Excuse me," he muttered, pressing a hand to his temple.

His friends burst into laughter again. "Man can't hold his liquor!" one joked, and the others roared.

Summer's lips curved, though her heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her ears.

They had no idea.

She followed him quietly as he left the suite, weaving through the laughter and smoke. His steps were uneven now. By the time he reached the elevator, his posture had slumped, and sweat gleamed faintly on his temple.

Keep going, she told herself, trailing him at a safe distance. You wanted this. You asked for this.

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding. The mirrored surface caught her reflection-haunted eyes and trembling fingers.

By the time she reached his suite, the number 1207 glowed faintly in the hallway light.

Inside, Alexander collapsed onto the bed, his breath uneven, hand clutching the sheets.

Summer exhaled shakily, a sound that was part relief, part exhaustion, part grief.

The plan was working.

Pulling out a small phone, she typed.

"Alexander doesn't feel well". Bring medicine to his suite. Hurry.

She hit send.

Then she stripped off the uniform-the fake identity-and tossed the cap aside. Her hands shook as she straightened her dress beneath. She fixed her hair, reapplied a faint smear of lipstick. If this was going to end, it would end her way.

She arranged the tray neatly by the door and waited.

Her breath steadied. Her mind went still.

Then she knocked.

A pause. A faint, weak voice came from inside. "Come in..."

She opened the door and slipped through before he could see her clearly.

Then, with a sharp motion, she slammed it shut.

Alexander flinched, his eyes glassy but alert. "Summer... what are you doing here?" he rasped, disbelief cutting through the haze of the drug.

Her name on his lips made her chest tighten. Once, it had sounded tender. Now, it felt like mockery.

She moved closer, her voice trembling with the weight of humiliation.

"You should have chosen me, Alexander," she said, each word shaking with fury and obsession. "Not her."

He tried to sit up. Even weakened, his pride was stubborn.

"Beat it, Summer," he muttered, the words slurring together. "Kimberly is your sister and I'll never betray her."

Something broke behind her eyes-something small and final.

Her lips quivered. "Then I'll make sure she never has you either."

The tray crashed to the floor, scattering glass and sound. The lights flickered once, shadows spilling across the room.

Summer lunged forward, her breath ragged, eyes blazing with pain and desperation.

She stumbled onto the bed, her hands gripping his shoulders, her lips hovering dangerously close to his.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered. "You don't get to look at me like I'm the villain." she whispered,as her fingers dug into his shirt.

He tried to push her back, but she pressed closer, wild with emotion-anger, love, grief-all tangled together until it was impossible to tell them apart.

Summer pressed harder, driven by love turned obsession, by the ache of every word he'd never said.

And as her lips trembled against his, the room spun with the taste of betrayal.