My Fiance Traded Me For An Heiress

I slammed my two-week notice onto the conference table, right as my fiancé was idly twirling a wadded ball of black stockings between his fingers. He glanced dismissively at the word “Resignation” on the paper, a familiar, easy smirk curving his lips. “Sutton Reid, what new drama are we stirring up now?” My knuckles were white against the copy of the Due Diligence report I clutched behind my back, but my voice was unnervingly steady. “I’m waiving all claims to company shares and any accrued bonuses. My official departure paperwork has already been submitted to HR.” The twirling motion of his fingers paused for a beat, the dismissiveness in his eyes replaced by mild shock, then a swift turn to biting sarcasm. “Babe, I told you weeks ago, we’re holding off on releasing that report because we need the Prescott Group’s leverage to finalize this transition. Do you really have to be so difficult about every little thing?” “Just until things stabilize, then I’ll make our relationship public, hmm?” He reached out to cup my cheek, a gesture he’d used countless times to soothe the “irrational” me. But I turned my head, dodging his touch. All I wanted now was to be completely, irrevocably done with him, and with this entire enterprise built on calculation and deceit.

1. Blake Harrison let his hand drop, the black stockings still dangling from his index finger. His tone was laced with an almost charitable arrogance. “Sutton, stop acting like a child. Without me, where would you have gotten access to those core resources? How would you have led three hundred-million-dollar deals in three years?” He rose and walked toward me, looking down. “If you walk out now, you’re gutting your own career.” I looked up at him, my eyes empty of any emotion. “My career has never been a gift from anyone.” “Those project proposals? I spent countless all-nighters rewriting them. Those client resources? I flew across the country to lock them in. Even the core technology this company is built on? I led the team that cracked the code.” “Blake, what makes you think I can’t survive without you?” He froze. He hadn’t expected this. The Sutton he knew was always compliant, always agreeing to his version of the future. For five years, I had compromised again and again for the sake of his so-called ‘shared future.’ He said the startup phase required low visibility, so I was content to be the woman behind the man, pushing all the credit to him at celebration dinners, despite being the project’s main architect. He said he had to play the game with the Prescott heiress, Sarah, so I ignored the scent of a cheap, unfamiliar perfume on his jacket, and the telltale ping of flirtatious texts on his phone. I believed that once the company was stable, he would fulfill his promise: give me a public role, a clean slate, and an honest love. It wasn’t until last week, when I found the DD Report—the one he’d buried for three months—stuffed in the back of his private office drawer, along with intimate photos of him and Sarah Prescott, and their vulgar chat logs, that I finally woke up. The Due Diligence report clearly stated that Prescott Enterprises’ funding was already a dead end. The so-called ‘leverage’ was nothing but Blake’s scheme to exploit Sarah’s feelings, using her investment to plug the gaping holes in his own company’s finances. His promise to me was a lie from the very beginning. “The client only recognizes you, Sutton. The projects aren’t finalized. If you dare walk away, I’ll personally make sure you never work in this industry again.” Blake’s face darkened, a flicker of something truly ugly crossing his eyes. He was adept at using this kind of threat; he knew my professional reputation meant everything to me. “Oh, really?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the play button on a call recording I’d prepared long ago. Blake’s voice, smug and confident, filled the air. “Sarah is a complete fool, she thinks a few pieces of jewelry and some sweet talk are enough to reel her in. Once I get her investment, I’ll cut her loose. As for Sutton, she’s just a tool, a knife in my hand. Once it’s served its purpose, you throw it away…” Before the clip even finished, Blake lunged for my phone, his face absolutely ashen. I was ready. I sidestepped him easily and slipped the phone back into my bag. I sneered, throwing the copy of the DD Report onto the table in front of him. “Did you think I wouldn’t keep leverage of my own?” “The evidence of you falsifying revenue data and defrauding investors? I have all of it. If I choose to expose you, forget me not being able to find another job—you and your company will be facing hard time.” The office was dead silent. Blake’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. He stared at me, his eyes promising violence. “Sutton Reid, are you threatening me?” “It’s not a threat. It’s a notification.” I bent down, retrieved my notice, and gently patted the dust from it. “I’ve already accepted an offer from Vantage Capital. I start next week as Vice President of Projects. As for your mess with the Prescotts, you clean it up yourself.” Vantage Capital—the gold standard of investment firms, and the very partner Blake had been desperately trying and failing to secure for years. He never imagined I would be headhunted by them.

2. Just then, Blake’s phone chimed. It was Sarah Prescott. He checked the screen, his expression growing even more toxic, but he answered it anyway. “Zeyan, when are you coming over? My father has approved the investment, he’s just waiting for you to sign the contracts…” Sarah’s overly sweet, hopeful voice filtered from the phone. I didn’t wait to hear their saccharine exchange. I turned and walked out of the office. The afternoon sun streamed through the glass windows of the hallway, warm and bright on my skin. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Gavin Wells, the CEO of Vantage Capital. “Sutton, welcome aboard. Your talent and integrity are more valuable than any resource.” I smiled faintly, tapping out a reply. “Looking forward to it.” Back at the empty apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, the tension I’d held for months finally bleeding away. This apartment—Blake had bought it, putting the deed in my name as a “guarantee.” Now, staring at the high-end finishes, all I felt was bitter irony. Five years of my youth, five years of complete devotion, all for a perfectly executed con. I walked to the balcony, watching the traffic ebb and flow far below. My mind drifted back five years. Blake was a hungry, broke kid then, pitching a half-baked business plan out of a university incubator. I had just received my acceptance letter to Columbia for my Master’s, but his plea—“Sutton, stay and help me. We’ll build our future together”—made me abandon the chance without a second thought. I remember us crammed into a tiny, ten-by-ten studio. In winter, when the heater broke, he’d tuck my hands into his jacket to warm them. In summer, without air conditioning, he’d stay up all night fanning me. Once, when the company hit a funding crisis, he came back defeated, held me, and cried, apologizing for putting me through hardship. “Sutton, once the company is stable, I’ll marry you. I’ll buy you the biggest house, the best car. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.” His eyes had been so earnest. I gave him everything. To cut costs, I took on tutoring gigs after my full-time work. To land our first major client, I practically lived in their lobby for a week until they finally relented. To solve the core technical challenge, the team and I pulled an all-nighter for a month straight, often passing out at our desks. Blake did succeed, fueled by my proposals and the clients I secured. The company grew from a cramped workshop into a minor industry player. But as the company grew, he changed. He started attending endless networking events, coming home later and later, smelling of increasingly unfamiliar perfumes. When I asked, he always waved it off: “It’s just business, Sutton. I have to play the part.” I chose to believe him. Until the first time I found a stick of lipstick that wasn’t mine in his suit pocket. It was a shocking, seductive red, a color I would never wear. I held it up to him. He paused, then casually dismissed it. “Must have brushed against a client’s purse.” I looked at his open, seemingly candid expression, and swallowed the accusation that was burning in my throat. Trust him. Support his career. But once a crack appears in trust, the foundation never returns to its original integrity. The incidents grew more frequent. His phone was suddenly password-protected. His schedule became opaque. His attitude toward me grew distant and perfunctory. I hadn’t quite given up. But a month after leaving him, I discovered I was three weeks pregnant.

3. I was holding the sonogram report, walking toward the office to tell Blake, when I saw him kissing a stranger outside the building. I recognized the woman instantly: Sarah Prescott, the heiress to the Prescott Group. It felt like a physical blow. I stood frozen as the prenatal report fluttered from my trembling hand to the ground. Blake saw me. His face went instantly pale. He pushed Sarah away and rushed over, trying to physically pull me away. “Sutton, let me explain. It’s not what you think…” “Then what is it?” I bent down, picked up the paper, and thrust it at him, my voice cracking. “Blake, we’re having a baby. Is this how you treat me? Is this how you treat our child?” He looked at the report, his eyes a confusing mix of shock, guilt, but mostly impatience. “Sutton, this isn’t the time for this. Sarah and I are only business partners. I’m doing this for the company, for our future.” “For our future?” I laughed, the sound brittle as tears streamed down my face. “Does your future include me? Does it include this baby? Or just your company and your bottom line?” We had a devastating fight that day. He called me unreasonable. He said I didn’t understand the sacrifices he had to make. And from that moment, I quietly began building my own escape route. I contacted my former professors and meticulously mapped out a new career path. I gathered every shred of evidence of Blake’s illegal operations, ensuring I had leverage. I even consulted a lawyer, Ms. Anya Sharma, about property and cohabitation rights. The child, that tiny life, ultimately did not make it. The doctor said the prolonged stress and anxiety had caused poor fetal development. A natural miscarriage. On the day of the procedure, Blake was at a black-tie event with Sarah Prescott. I called him. He cut me off quickly: “I’m busy, Sutton. Whatever it is, talk later.” Then he hung up. Lying on that cold operating table, feeling the quiet, irreversible loss of that small life, my heart was shredded. In that sterile silence, I knew. There was absolutely no turning back with Blake.

4. I loaded the last box of my belongings into my car. I gave the apartment, once filled with all my love and hope, one final look, locked the door, and descended the stairs. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I pulled out my phone and opened a hidden, encrypted folder. Inside lay years of evidence: Blake’s misappropriation of company funds, the theft of my design patents, even the plan he devised with Sarah to ultimately strip-mine Prescott Enterprises. Every contract copy, every secretly recorded call, every dubious wire transfer—all meticulously organized. My finger hovered over the send button for three seconds, before I pressed it, sending these career-ending files, word-for-word, to the legal counsel for Blue Ridge Tech, Prescott’s largest competitor. The ‘Sent Successfully’ notification popped up. I managed a thin, cold smile. I started the car, floored the gas pedal, and drove away from the place I once believed was my sanctuary, without a single glance in the rearview mirror. Meanwhile, at The Fairmont Grand in Midtown, the ballroom was awash in the glow of crystal chandeliers, roses, and champagne. Elegant guests mingled, their conversation a soft, sophisticated buzz. Blake Harrison stood center stage, his custom black tuxedo fitting his frame perfectly. He had carefully wiped away his usual flippancy, replacing it with an air of refined, gentle charm. He held Sarah Prescott’s hand, his finger idly caressing the massive diamond on her ring finger, a picture of tender affection. The officiant, microphone in hand, was booming out the praises of the engaged couple: Blake Harrison, the up-and-coming business star about to become the son-in-law of Prescott Enterprises, and Sarah, the cherished family heiress. Sarah looked up at Blake, her eyes shining with the starry-eyed belief of a woman deeply in love. Her voice was a low whisper, edged with barely concealed eagerness. “Zeyan, after the ceremony, is Dad going to transfer that capital injection to your account?” Blake lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, but his grip on her hand subtly tightened. His voice was brimming with total confidence. “Of course, darling. Once I have that money, Sutton’s pathetic little percentage of company shares will be worthless. And her so-called patents…” He chuckled, a dark, fleeting shadow crossing his eyes. “I made sure to set a trap in that partnership agreement five years ago. Even if she tries to sue, she won’t stand a chance.” Sarah instantly lit up, cuddling into his side, her voice syrupy sweet. “I knew you were the smartest. Once we’re married, you’ll be the Prescott heir. Then we’ll see what that woman, Sutton, can do to compete with me.” “Compete?” Blake’s scoff was pure contempt. “She was nothing but a knife for me to use. Once you’re done with a tool, you discard it. That apartment of hers must be cleared out by now. She’s probably hiding in some corner, crying into her pillow.” Just as a wave of agreeing laughter swept through the guests, who raised their glasses to toast the ‘perfect couple,’ no one noticed the group of figures in official uniforms swiftly entering the ballroom. Their leather shoes hit the polished marble floor with a synchronized, heavy thud, an oddly ominous sound that cut through the celebratory noise. Blake was raising his champagne glass to accept the crowd’s acclaim when a strong hand clamped down on his wrist. The grip was so forceful that he instinctively winced. He turned impatiently, but the moment he saw the figures, the smile froze on his face. The color drained from his cheeks…