After My Fiancé’s Betrayal, I Changed Grooms on the Altar

Monica's POV

"KTV charges of $5,000, please verify if this transaction poses any risk."

That was the sixty-sixth message from my fiancé, Ashton Kincaid, along with his new intern, Carmen Simmons, regarding their splurging on nights out.

All of it, he told me, was for my sake.

Since Carmen had made my work life miserable, the man who claimed to love me more deeply than his own life said he was 'propping her up to destroy her.'

He even insisted that these outrageous expenses were simply part of the plan.

But the "plan" didn't stop there.

He gave Carmen the villa meant for our wedding, assigned my personal driver to take her everywhere, and made her vice president of the company, only after him.

When I needed approval for a small $300 expense, I often had to plead for it, and more frequently than not, it was outright rejected with the dismissive response, "The company is not a charity."

I had begged Ashton, tears streaming down my face, to put an end to this charade of 'kindness,' but he only pushed harder.

He even changed our wedding venue to the beach, which was Carmen's favorite place, disregarding that I almost drowned there as a child.

That day had left me with a lifelong fear of the sea.

His colleagues, ever the supportive bunch, teased him mercilessly.

"Your fiancée, Monica, spent nights working on your wedding plan, and you changed the venue on a whim? She's really a joke. Didn't she say the ocean terrifies her? What if she has a panic attack?"

Ashton casually shrugged, replying, "How could she die of fear? Impossible. She loves me more than her own life. Back when I asked her to sail with me, didn't she go without hesitation? Besides, Monica's already carrying my child. Without me, who else would want her?"

Hopelessness settled over me, heavy like a dark cloud.

What he called the 'propping her up' plan was nothing more than a cover for their affair.

As everyone around me whispered about whether I would make a scene, I made my decision. If this were how things were, no one would get away unscathed.

I dialed a familiar number and spoke with a firm resolve, "You must be there for the wedding in seven days."

...

The days passed quickly, and I arrived at the gathering Ashton claimed was a 'special surprise.'

At the door of the private room, I paused before pushing it open.

Inside, sharp, mocking voices greeted me.

"Monica finally lost her VP position to you, Carmen. And now you're magnanimously giving it back to her? If she knew, wouldn't she be devastated?"

There was a pause before Ashton's cold voice sliced through the air.

"Devastated? Hardly. I only had her step down to focus on the pregnancy. She's thrilled. She wouldn't be upset at all. These days, she listens to everything I say. If I tell her east, she won't dare go west. The moment I announced this gathering, she rushed right over without hesitation."

Laughter and chatter filled the room.

Someone else chimed in, "Ashton, you're really a master at controlling women! Teach us your tricks."

"This party's all for Carmen," another added. "To celebrate her finally becoming VP."

"Exactly! And inviting Monica to attend—well, isn't that just twisting the knife?"

Not long ago, I'd been diagnosed as pregnant.

Ashton was ecstatic, rubbing my belly like a child.

"Pregnancy is hard enough. Just stay home and take care of the baby. I'll handle everything else—the work, the money, everything."

So, I resigned from my position as VP and stayed home to focus on the pregnancy.

But within three days, Ashton had handed my title over to Carmen.

Hot and heavy tears streamed down my face.

I hadn't noticed the waiter standing beside me until his soft voice cut through my grief.

"Excuse me, miss, could you step aside?"

I moved away from the door, but my gaze couldn't leave the giant three-tier cake inside.

On the white frosting, the words "Congratulations, Carmen, on your promotion and wealth" seemed to glare back at me.

The waiter pushed open the door, and suddenly, every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

"Monica, come in," someone said. "We've been waiting for you."

But their words had no warmth.

There wasn't even a seat for me.

Carmen, still attached to Ashton like a shadow, didn't bother to hide her disdain.

Her face twisted in contempt as she snapped, "Who let her in? I told you I don't like her! Hasn't she bullied me enough already?"

Ashton shot her a pointed look and then turned to me, his voice smooth as he tried to soothe her. "Isn't this exactly why Monica's here? To apologize to you. Whatever form of apology you want, consider it yours. You can make her do anything."

My heart stopped.

I stared at him, disbelief freezing me in place. "Ashton, didn't you tell me to come? You said you wanted me to apologize. But what did I do wrong? Why should I apologize?"

I spun on my heel and tried to leave, but found the door locked tight.

Carmen's smile twisted into something far more sinister. "You're not leaving. Drink every bottle on this table, then knock your head to the floor three times for me. Do that, and I'll let you leave. If not, I don't care who you are. You won't step out that door."

My voice rang out sharp and defiant. "No! I will never apologize, not unless I'm dead!"

Her only response was a crisp slap across my face.

Suddenly, I was kicked to the ground, my head hitting the table corner. Dizziness overwhelmed me as I struggled to get up.

"Don't move! There are plenty of ways to make you kneel!"

And then the burn of liquor as it was forced down my throat—too much, too fast. It felt like fire, searing my insides. My vision was blurred, and my body weakened.

Through the haze, I saw Ashton rubbing his temples, bored and impatient, making no move to stop them.

His silence told me everything.

So, was this still part of his so-called 'propping her up' plan to destroy Carmen?