Chapter 1

Tags: Public Proposal, Stolen Renovation Money, Secret Family, Revenge & Sweet Karma

On Valentine's Day, a flatbed truck packed with 999 red roses parked in front of my office. The whole company gathered at the windows to watch.

My boyfriend, Logan, dropped to one knee before the crowd and whispered, "Serena, I want to give you a home."

Tears blurred my vision while my coworkers cheered wildly. In that single moment, I thought I was the luckiest girl alive.

That very night, he sent me the contractor’s quote and a photo of the house deed, texting: "Just one last step, babe."

Without a second thought, I wired him the entire $200,000 I had saved over the past five years.

Over the next few days, his replies grew slower and colder. I told myself he was just drowning in renovation work.

A week later, our company sent me on a last-minute business trip to a county right next to his hometown.

Remembering he once said our new house was on the east edge of town, I took a thirty-minute detour to find it.

An older woman soaking up the sun by the road pointed at a newly tiled two-story house:

"That's Logan's place. Had an engagement party with Phoebe from the next town last month. They're just waiting to finish renovations so they can marry by Christmas."

A chilling wave washed over me. My nails dug into my palms, but I didn't storm in.

I tapped 'record' on my phone, gripped it tightly, and pushed open the front gate.

Inside the courtyard, he was peeling a tangerine for a woman.

In her arms was a toddler, barely a year old. The little boy looked up at him and squeaked, "Daddy."

Logan glanced over and froze. A flicker of sheer panic crossed his face before he smothered it, pulling his lips into a cold, dismissive sneer:

"What are you doing here?"

I smiled, lifted my phone, and showed him the pulsing red recording screen.

"Tell me, Logan—does this count as unjust enrichment in civil court, or straight-up criminal fraud?"

The day Logan proposed, he brought an entire truckload of roses, but not a single ring.

It was Valentine's Day, drenched in commercial romance. A bright red flatbed truck choked the street outside my office building.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine roses carpeted the truck bed like a blazing sea of crimson.

My coworkers crowded against the windows, gasping in collective envy.

Logan stood before that sea of red, holding a smaller bouquet, and dropped to one knee.

"Serena, I want to give you a home."

His voice echoed through a megaphone, trembling with just the right amount of emotion across the entire plaza.

Tears spilled down my cheeks instantly.

Everyone around us erupted into cheers, chanting, "Say yes! Say yes!"

The world faded into a blur of background noise. All that remained were his intensely affectionate eyes.

Convinced I was the happiest woman in the world, I nodded without hesitation.

That night, we skipped our usual dinner reservation.

Logan said he wanted to show me something real.

He drove me out to a new suburban neighborhood, pointed toward a dimly lit house, and said:

"Serena, that's our future home."

It was too dark to see clearly, but my heart raced wildly at his words.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head, his voice dripping with anticipation.

"Once the renovations are done, we'll get married, okay?"

I leaned back into his chest, nodding eagerly, feeling like I had the world in my hands.

Back in my rental apartment, he pulled several papers from his briefcase.

One was an itemized contractor quote; the other was a copy of the deed, with his name clearly printed as the sole owner.

"Serena, the designer said top-tier materials will cost around two hundred thousand," he said, pointing at the grand total with a troubled expression.

"It's just this final step, but my cash is all tied up right now."

I looked at his handsome profile, his tired eyes, and his plans for our future. My heart ached for him.

For five years, I had pinched pennies, banking every paycheck and bonus just to build our future together.

Now, that future was right in front of me.

Without a moment's hesitation, I pulled up my banking app and transferred the entire $200,000 to him in one go.

"The security PIN is your birthday," I said softly.

He blinked, momentarily stunned, then pulled me into a crushing embrace, his voice cracked.

"Serena, thank you. I swear I'll never let you down."

I patted his back with a smile, my heart overflowing with bright hopes for our new life.

Yet from that night on, everything shifted.

Over the next few days, his messages trickled in slower and slower.

A "Good morning" sent at 8 AM wouldn't get a flat "K" until noon.

Whenever I called at night, the phone rang endlessly before he picked up. The background was always loud, and he claimed he was supervising workers on-site.

Once, I caught the faint sound of a woman giggling in the background. When I asked who it was, he paused before answering, "Just the contractor's wife dropping off food."

Past 11 PM, he'd only drop a dismissive "Night, exhausted."

I checked his Instagram, only to find he had scrubbed every single photo of us, leaving behind a blank, hollow feed.

I told myself he was breaking his back for our future home. Remodeling had to be stressful.

I shouldn't make a scene. I needed to be understanding.

Until a week later, when self-delusion finally shattered.

My boss sent me on a quick business trip to a small neighboring county I had never visited before.

Coincidentally, it was right next to Logan's hometown.

Suddenly, an offhand comment he made surfaced in my memory: our new house was on the east edge of town.

An absurd, terrifying thought sprouted inside me like a poisonous weed.

That nagging intuition grew heavier by the second.

I wasn't driving there to give him a sweet surprise. I was driving there to uncover a truth I was terrified to face.