Broken by His Fiancée

Three years ago, when I left the country, I didn't even dare to say goodbye to him face-to-face.

It wasn't that I didn't miss him. I was simply terrified that he would lose his mind and hurt someone else on my account again.

The moment the private jet touched down and he saw me, my uncle, Logan Thorne, had eyes that turned instantly red with unshed tears. "You’ve lost weight, and you look completely pale. What’s so great about that miserable place overseas anyway? How many times did I tell you to come back home to finish your studies, yet you just refused to listen?"

I sniffled lightly, forcing a bright smile onto my face. "Uncle Logan, look, I'm finally back, aren't I? You're literally getting married—did you honestly think I wouldn't show up for that?"

The exact second I mentioned the wedding, a brilliant light washed over his face. "Right, right, right! Let’s go, get in the car. I’m taking you out to grab a bite to eat first."

As the luxury car cut through traffic, Logan’s protective tone softened significantly. "Maisie, I finally found a woman to be your aunt.

"Her name is Victoria Vane. She’s incredibly gentle and very understanding.

"She actually reminds me a lot of your mother. Once we're officially married, I know she’s going to treat you wonderfully."

I turned my head to look at him with absolute seriousness. "Then you have to promise me that you will love her with all your heart, Uncle Logan. Make sure you never mistreat her."

Logan let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to gently stroke my hair with pure paternal warmth.

Once dinner concluded, Logan drove me over to his luxury penthouse apartment downtown so I could settle in and unpack.

The following morning, right as I was sitting down to eat breakfast, a loud, aggressive pounding echoed from the front door. Our housekeeper, Martha Higgins, hurried over to open it.

Three women immediately barged straight into the foyer.

The woman leading the pack swept a cold, calculating gaze over me from head to toe, her jaw tightening in pure rage. "So, you're the little obsession my husband can't seem to stop thinking about."

My brain was still completely foggy from sleep, causing me to ask entirely instinctually, "Are you... Victoria Vane?"

"Oh, look at that, you actually know my name," Victoria sneered, taking a menacing step forward while her two wealthy friends flanked her from behind.

"What’s the matter? Did you catch wind of the fact that Logan Thorne is officially getting married, so you scrambled to catch the quickest flight back into the country?"

Her friends instantly chimed in, their voices dripping with malice.

"Oh, absolutely. If she didn't hurry back, her precious sugar daddy was going to be stolen right out from under her.

"She’s been hiding out overseas for three whole years. Who knows how many hands she’s passed through by now? She probably only crawled back home to find a sucker to pin the baggage on."

My brow furrowed tightly, realizing instantly that they had completely misconstrued the entire situation.

"Miss Vane," I said, looking directly at Victoria as I forced a warm, respectful smile suited for a future family elder. "You've completely mixed things up. My relationship with Logan isn't what you think it is at all. He’s actually my—"

"You're seriously still trying to lie your way out of this?" Victoria let out a harsh, freezing laugh, snatching a photograph from her designer purse and hurling it directly at my face.

I lowered my head to look at the glossy paper that hit my lap. It was a picture of me taken on the day of my high school graduation.

"He keeps your photograph locked inside his bedside nightstand 24/7," Victoria hissed, enunciating every single syllable with absolute venom. "Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me you aren't his mistress?"

"Miss Vane," I pleaded, letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion. "You are genuinely misunderstanding the situation. I can explain everything to you. He is literally just my un—"

Once again, my words were cut violently short.

Without a single second of hesitation, Victoria lunged forward, grabbed the half-eaten bowl of hot oatmeal sitting on the table, and threw it directly into my face.

The scalding food splashed violently across my skin, leaving behind a sharp, blistering, fiery pain.

Behind her, her little circle of friends let out a chorus of mocking giggles.

"Look at her trying to play the innocent victim. For a mistress, she’s certainly got a lot of nerve to look so self-righteous."