THE NIGHT EVERYTHING BROKE
FIONA'S POV
After window shopping, I leapt with so much joy back home, eager to tell my mother about all the beautiful wedding gowns I had just seen! I was so excited—I was finally going to spend the rest of my life with the man I loved so much.
"Mummy, I'm—"
My words died in my throat.
What my eyes had just witnessed… I wasn't sure I would recover from it. I always thought this kind of situation only happened in movies, but there I was, standing in front of my mother—the woman who raised me, my safe space—having sex with my fiancé.
I was stunned.
"How could you?" I screamed, tears already falling down my face.
My mother quietly wrapped the sheets around her body, reeking of shame.
"I can explain. It's not what you think, Fiona, please—"
I stood in shock at what I had just seen. Michael looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"Babe, please forgive me. It was a mistake…"
Before Richard could finish talking, I walked over to him—he was still trying to put on his clothes—and slapped him.
"I was out looking at wedding gowns! We were supposed to get married. How could you do this??"
"Please, just let me explain," Richard begged.
"Explain what? How you've been sleeping with my mother?!"
Richard went on his knees, grabbing my feet, crying those bloody crocodile tears. I slapped him again—this time harder. I had had enough!
I ran out of the house—broken, shattered, betrayed. I didn't even think about where I was going. I just needed to get as far away from those people as I could.
My chest burned, my heart was heavy. I kept walking. My only comfort was knowing that with each step, I was getting farther away from the betrayal.
Soon, I needed to stop and catch my breath. I sat quietly under a bridge by the highway, near a garbage bin.
I sat in silence, staring into the night. My heart pounded, my mind racing through a million thoughts.
My thoughts betrayed me.
I began to replay everything—not just today, but every moment I spent in love.
Richard's voice echoed in my head… the late-night calls… the lullabies he'd sing when I was too scared to sleep.
He once told me, "I don't want a perfect girl. I want all of you and only you. I'll make all your insecurities your greatest attributes. Please, never leave me."
I was so stupid to believe him. So stupid to trust him.
Tears rolled down my face, my hands clutched to my chest, legs intertwined. I wept bitterly.
What was the worst part?
I still missed Richard. I still loved him.
No matter what I told myself, my heart still longed for him. I wanted it to be him so badly. I wanted him to be the father of my children. I wanted him to be my partner—to be by my side until the day either of us took our last breath.
But unfortunately for me, the universe had other plans.
I kept crying. I couldn't control it. I started to scream. Passersby looked at me like I was mad.
I never expected this kind of betrayal.
A car pulled up in front of me. An elderly lady with tired eyes and a plastic bag full of awara stepped out from the driver's seat.
What could an elderly woman want from me now? I wondered.
"You alright?" she asked in a calm voice.
I looked up at her, unable to stop the tears. "Do I look alright?"
"Fair enough."
She dusted off the floor and sat beside me.
"Heartbreak?" she asked in a low tone.
I just glanced at her and nodded.
She took my hand and locked it with hers. "Hmm. My dear, men will stain your white and leave you in the desert with nowhere to go."
I looked at her now.
She spoke like someone who had known real pain. She was elderly, yet so beautiful—and so fragile.
"There's a small bar across the street," she said, pointing in the direction. "Nothing too fancy. The lights are dim, the music's loud. Helps me forget my sorrows—even if it's just for a while."
Tears rolled down my face.
I wished my mother was here instead. Not some old woman who felt pity for me.
I hugged her.
"Whatever they did," she said, "it's not the end of the world. You're beautiful. You're young. The right person is still out there."
She stood up, tossed her plastic bag into the garbage bin, and returned to her car. She offered me a ride to the bar, but I told her I'd rather walk. I just wanted to be alone.
I headed to the bar.
Just like she said, it wasn't big or fancy. It smelled of cheap beer and sadness. The lights were dim—almost completely dark. Sad songs from the '90s played so loudly, I could barely hear the voices in my head.
It wasn't full—just a few people, scattered and drinking like their lives depended on it.
I walked straight to the counter, trying to act like I belonged. Like I wasn't some poor girl whose life had just crumbled. Not that anyone cared if I belonged—but my mind was overthinking everything.
"Double shot of Long Island," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"You sure, mama?" the bartender asked.
"Yeah. I am."
"Coming right up," he said with a suspicious smile.
He gave me a show, then poured the drink into my glass and slid it to me.
The first sip?
I almost vomited.
I wasn't sure I wanted to keep going—but that was the only way to numb my pain.
So I did.
I drank so much—like the alcohol could magically erase the image of Richard pushing himself inside my mother… and lying to me for who knows how long.
I hated that my body still craved him. I still wanted every part of him. I still wanted us to be a family.
"Rough night?"
I ignored the voice.
"Rough night?" he asked again, calm and charming.
"Does it look like I want to talk to you?" I muttered.
"No," he said, dragging a seat closer. "But a problem shared is a problem half-solved."
I turned to face him.
He stared at me—tall, clean, polished. Probably in his early thirties. He carried himself like a man used to being obeyed.
But there was something about the way he looked at me…
"Let me guess," I said. "You're about to tell me you know how it feels?"
He smirked. "No. I was about to say… you look like someone trying to gather her broken pieces."
I looked away and kept drinking.
"Do you mind if I get you another drink?" he asked.
"I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity. It's vodka," he said, with that charmingly rude voice.
There was something about him. I didn't understand why, but I let myself entertain him.
He ordered another round. We drank. And drank.
The sexual tension between us built. I could feel it, but I wasn't going to make the first move.
It was 3 a.m. Everyone else had gone home—except us.
"Sorry to bother you, sir, ma'am. It's time to close," the bartender said calmly.
He leaned in and pulled me closer.
"I know a better place we can finish this conversation. Somewhere with no interruptions," he whispered.
My body already wanted him. I didn't belong to anyone anymore. What could go wrong?
I followed him quietly.
The hotel was beautiful—marble floors, a chandelier that looked like real diamonds.
Yes, I knew what was about to happen. But the way he looked at me—it was as though he wanted more than just a one-night stand.
Room 300.
He unlocked the door, carried me in, and tossed me on the bed before locking it.
I was scared.
Was this all he wanted from me?
He sat beside me, his eyes studying every inch of my body.
"Is it okay if we talk about what happened to you?" he asked.
I swallowed hard.
"It's okay if you don't want to," he said gently.
"I don't want to remember it."
"Well… maybe I could help you forget," he whispered.
He pulled me close and kissed me—like he had already devoured me in his mind.
Lights off. Music playing softly from the speakers. He kissed me with urgency. It was intense.
He laid me down on the sheets. His fingers moved gently through my pants. He knew exactly how to touch me.
He went down on me like a starving man, tasting every inch, every drop I gave.
He kissed me again, more deeply, as he slid inside me.
His c*ck was thick. Big. Hard.
I moaned—loudly. I couldn't handle it.
"Tell me when to stop," he whispered.
"Never," I replied.
He went deeper. Harder. One hand around my neck, the other guiding himself inside me like he was mapping out my body.
"You're so f*cking tight, baby," he whispered.
I gasped for air as he slid out slowly—then slammed back inside, this time harder. He knew exactly where to hit.
And God, it made me cry out again.
We collapsed on the bed, breathless, drenched in sweat.
The room was silent.
He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. Soon, we both fell asleep.
Morning.
I woke early, staring at the ceiling, reminiscing about the beautiful night I just had.
He touched me softly. Kissed me like I was the love of his life. F*cked me like I was the only woman who mattered.
But it wasn't long before reality stole my joy.
I thought I had forgotten. But the pain was still there.
Richard.
My mother.
The betrayal.
I tried, but I couldn't stop the tears.
I didn't want him to wake up and see me like this, so I quietly got dressed.
At the door, I took one last look at this stranger.
For a moment, I wished he was mine.
As I stepped into the lobby, walking quickly to avoid being seen, something caught my eye.
A wall of portraits—framed in gold.
I paused. Amazed at what money could do.
But then I saw him.
The stranger from last night.
Michael Cole.
Billionaire.
CEO and Founder of ColeTech Group.
Principal Investor.
My heart sank. A sharp pain hit my chest.
For a second—a very foolish second—I admired the idea of him.
The idea of him being mine.
But the universe keeps showing me that I'll never be loved.
Only used. Over and over again.
He wasn't mine.
And even in my wildest dreams…
He never would be.