After My Fiancé Cheated, I Married a Billionaire Stranger

I stood outside the bridal suite, my hand frozen on the doorknob. The velvet box in my other hand felt suddenly heavy—the vintage cufflinks I'd spent months tracking down for Dillon's wedding gift. I'd wanted to surprise him, to see his face light up the way it used to when I gave him something that showed how much I knew him.

The door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway, and I heard laughter. Calliope's laughter—high, musical, and intimate in a way that made my stomach clench. I pushed the door open.

The scene before me didn't make sense at first. My mind refused it. Dillon was in our bed—our marital bed, where we were supposed to spend our first night as husband and wife tomorrow—with Calliope Kelley draped across him. Her red hair spilled over his chest, and his hand rested possessively on her bare shoulder. They weren't even trying to hide it. They looked up at me with identical expressions of mild annoyance, as if I were the interruption.

"Kinslee," Dillon said, not moving, not reaching for a shirt, not showing even a flicker of shame. "You're early. We were just—"

"Just what?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Having sex in our bed the night before our wedding?"

Calliope stretched languidly, her body a deliberate display. "Don't be so dramatic, Kinslee. You've always been so... theatrical about everything. Dillon and I have history. We have a connection. You knew that when you got involved with him."

"I knew nothing," I said, the words like ice in my mouth. "I knew he loved me. I knew we were getting married tomorrow. I knew—"

"Oh, sweetie." Dillon sat up, and I watched his face arrange itself into the expression I'd fallen for a hundred times—reasonable, patient, slightly disappointed in me. "You're overreacting. Calliope was always there for me. She understands me in ways you never could. But that doesn't mean I don't want to marry you. You're still my future. You're just... not my past."

He said it like it was a gift. Like I should be grateful.

"Dillon, this is insane. You can't—"

The door behind me burst open. Three men stumbled in—his groomsmen, reeking of whiskey and laughter. They stopped short when they saw me, then exchanged looks.

"Ah, the little bride," Marcus, Dillon's brother, said with a smirk. "Caught the lovebirds, did you? Well, join the club. We've all known about Calliope for years. Dillon's just lucky she still wants him."

"Shut up, Marcus," Dillon said without heat. "Kinslee's upset. She doesn't get it yet."

"Get what?" I whispered.

"That you should be thanking your lucky stars," another groomsman said, moving closer. "A guy like Dillon could have anyone. But he's choosing you. Even after this. Be grateful."

They formed a loose semicircle around me, their bodies blocking the door, their voices a low, mocking chorus.

"You're making a scene, Kinslee," Dillon said. "Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day. We'll talk after the ceremony. You'll see I'm right."

I backed toward the door, my vision blurring. "This isn't happening," I said, but even to my own ears, I sounded weak, uncertain.

The groomsmen laughed. "It's already happened, sweetheart. Now be a good girl and go home."

I was almost to the elevator when the suite door flew open again. Mrs. Snyder stood there, her face flushed with anger, her eyes locked on the diamond necklace at my throat—my mother's necklace, the only thing I had left of her.

"There you are," she hissed. "I've been looking for you. That necklace. It belongs to the Snyder family now. It's a marital asset. Hand it over."

I touched the cool diamonds. "This was my mother's. It's been in my family for generations. It's not part of any marital assets."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Everything you have becomes Dillon's tomorrow. That includes that necklace. Give it to me. Now."

She lunged forward, her fingers clawing at my throat. I stumbled backward, trying to protect the necklace, but her nails caught my skin. The pain was sharp, immediate. I fell, hitting the edge of a chair. The room spun.

Through the haze, I saw Dillon standing in the doorway. Watching. Not moving.

The last thing I felt before everything went black was a warm trickle down my legs and a cramping pain that told me something was terribly, irreversibly wrong.