My Fiancé’s Secretary Framed Me,Now I’ll Ruin Them Both

After ten years together, Claude Stephens and I were finally ending our long-distance relationship—with an engagement.

At the ceremony, his secretary swept her gaze over me from head to toe, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"So you're the one from those overseas adult sites, aren't you? A different leading man in every video."

She tilted her head, eyes glittering. "This is our first time meeting in person, but I have to say… your figure looks awfully familiar."

I lifted my gaze, my voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "Are you certain that's where you've seen me?"

The secretary flinched as if I'd slapped her, shrinking behind Claude with wide, wounded eyes.

"I'm so sorry—I forgot people in that industry prefer to stay anonymous after they retire. I shouldn't have said anything."

Claude's expression darkened instantly. His brow furrowed—but he was looking at me.

"You must have the wrong person."

The secretary stuck out her tongue in a show of playful contrition.

"You're right, you're right. My mistake. Your fiancée is far too elegant and refined to be one of those desperate attention-seekers."

Oh, we'd met before.

I remembered her vividly—back when she'd been "entertaining clients" at a certain establishment overseas. A workplace injury had landed her in my hospital. I was the one who'd stitched her up.

I wondered if she'd been taking the HIV medication I'd prescribed.

——

Claude and I were the guests of honor tonight.

Every eye in the room was fixed on us.

The moment Emma Pruitt finished speaking, the entire banquet hall went silent. Guests exchanged knowing glances, their lips pressed together in barely concealed smirks, words hovering unspoken.

A mutual friend rushed over, trying to smooth things over.

"Don't be ridiculous. Candice James was studying medicine in Alderhaven—do you have any idea how grueling that program is? She barely had time to sleep, let alone do… that."

Emma's glossy lips—painted in that trendy innocent-yet-seductive style—curved into a pout.

"But isn't that exactly the type? All those stressed-out intellectuals, blowing off steam with hookups?" She shrugged delicately. "Besides, Mr. Stephens is doing so well now, and Candice's family doesn't have money. Can you blame a girl for wanting to earn her dowry lying down?"

I set my champagne flute on the table with a sharp crack, closing the distance between us.

"If you're going to make accusations," I said, my voice low and razor-edged, "you'd better have proof. Otherwise, I will sue."

Emma's hand flew to her mouth, her neck shrinking into her shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"Girls support girls, right? Fine, fine—I'll stop."

Claude stepped between us, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise as he pulled me back. He positioned himself in front of Emma, shielding her.

"Enough. You're a grown woman—why are you picking fights with someone fresh out of college?"

Something cold slithered through my chest.

I stared at the man I'd loved for a decade, unable to process what I was hearing.

He seemed to realize what he'd said a beat too late. His jaw tightened, but he didn't take it back.

Behind him, Emma's eyes glistened with tears, her voice small and wounded.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have meddled." She sniffled. "Mr. Stephens is wealthy enough now—I'm sure you won't need to go back to your old work. Let's just say I was mistaken…"

The guests who had come to offer congratulations now looked at me with something else entirely. Contempt. Disgust. Amusement.

Hands covered mouths as whispers spread like wildfire. Some guests had already pulled out their phones, fingers flying as they searched for my "content."

A woman with an over-processed perm—some great-aunt of Claude's—sidled up to Cynthia Stephens with a theatrical gasp.

"My, my. The Stephens family is certainly open-minded, taking in a daughter-in-law with so much… experience."

Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "You were just bragging about how impressive she was—studying abroad all on her own, refusing your financial help." She clicked her tongue. "Turns out she had other ways of earning foreign currency. Why would she need your pocket change when she could just spread her legs?"

Mrs. Stephens trembled from head to toe, her face flushing so deeply it looked ready to catch fire.