d the forced laughter of people I barely knew. My fiancé, Captain Alex Hamilton, looked sculpted
e old conservatory, I heard voices drift– Lex' s and Bree Evans' . "She can't find out, B
t fund" after marriage. Disgust rose hot and choking. He wasn't just cheating; he was pl
ulating fraud. This wasn't a mistake; it was a meticulously planned betrayal, a monstrous financial
om my finger, and faced him. "I believe this belongs to you," I said, my voice clear. "Our engagement is off. I