Fiancé Cheated... So I Took His Rival’s Deal - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

"Sweetie, Noel's cheating on you. I just caught him taking his ex to a prenatal appointment," Jasmin Evans blurted over the phone.
Camila Bateman was at the police station wrapping up paperwork for a traffic accident when her best friend's call came through.
"That bastard," Jasmin seethed. "His fiancée nearly dies in a wreck, and he's out there playing house with his ex? Your so-called fiancé might as well be a ghost—always MIA, always 'too busy.' Turns out he's busy being someone else's doting baby daddy."
Camila's grip on her phone turned white-knuckled. The bloodstains on her collar made her already pale face look ghostly.
The North Freeway Overpass had been a nightmare—a massive pileup, cars crumpled like paper, lives snuffed out in seconds.
She'd been lucky. A white G-Wagon had swerved in front of her, taking the brunt of the impact. She'd walked away with cuts, bruises, and a mild concussion.
She'd tried calling Noel Anderson a dozen times. Not a single answer. She'd told herself he was just swamped with work.
Instead, he was swamped—with his ex's baby bump.
A cold shiver slithered down her spine. Mid-July, and yet she felt like she'd been dunked in ice.
Camila clenched her jaw against the knife-twist in her chest, her voice hoarse but clinging to denial. "Are you sure it was him?"
"Please," Jasmin scoffed. "My jerk radar's never wrong." A video popped up on Camila's screen. "Just filmed it. See for yourself."
There he was—Noel, tall and composed, standing guard outside an OB-GYN exam room like some devoted knight.
Beside him, a delicate figure in a white dress, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly—Shirley Gladwin, Noel's ex. His first love. His only love, if the way he laced his fingers through hers was any indication.
Ten seconds. That's all the video lasted. Ten seconds that shattered five years of illusions.
As her phone screen dimmed, Camila's own reflection stared back—disheveled, hollow-eyed, a woman unraveling.
Pathetic. The word echoed in her skull. Even now, you're still making excuses for him.
Five years. Five years of bending over backward, of swallowing every broken promise, of loving a man who'd never loved her back. And the second Shirley crooked her finger? He'd sprinted back to her side—pregnant with another man's child or not.
By the time Camila finished her police statement, night had fallen. Her car was totaled, so she called a cab.
She barely made it down the station steps before dizziness slammed into her. The world tilted—
"Careful."
A warm hand caught her waist, steadying her. The scent of sandalwood and crisp linen wrapped around her.
Camila blinked up into a pair of smoldering gray eyes.
"You okay?" The man's voice was low, smooth—like whiskey over ice. It jolted her back to reality.
"Mr. Hemming," she stammered, straightening. "Thank you. Again."
Johnathon Hemming—the owner of the G-Wagon that had saved her life. If not for him, she'd be on a coroner's slab right now.
Even post-accident, he looked immaculate. A white shirt rolled at the sleeves, black trousers, an air of effortless elegance. Like chaos couldn't touch him.
His gaze skimmed her pallor. "You should get checked out."
"I'm fine," she lied.
He glanced at the empty space beside her. "Boyfriend still a no-show?"
On the ride over, she'd told officers her fiancé would handle things. Now, the absence was glaring.
Camila forced a smile. "He's… busy."
Johnathon's eyes flickered—understanding, but tactful enough not to pry. "Let me drive you."
His G-Wagon was wrecked, but a sleek sedan idled nearby.
"I've got a cab." She nodded to the arriving car. "Thanks again."
As the cab pulled away, Johnathon watched until her taillights vanished.
Inside the car, Camila's phone buzzed. A text from Luke Hartley, Noel's childhood friend:
[Noel's wasted at Midnight Mirage. Get here now.]
Her stomach knotted. After a beat, she told the driver to reroute.
Midnight Mirage—Emberwick's playground for the rich and reckless. Noel's second home.
A staffer pointed her to a private room. The door was ajar.
What she saw stopped her dead.
Noel had Shirley pinned against him, kissing her like the world was ending. The wet, hungry sounds of it made Camila's skin crawl.
Then Luke's voice cut through the haze:
"Honestly, Noel and Shelly were always endgame. If Camila hadn't weaseled her way in, Shelly wouldn't have married that abusive prick overseas. Homewrecker move, if you ask me."
Camila's nails dug into her palms. She looked to Noel—defend me, just once—
But he just smirked, swirling his drink. Silent. Complicit.
Luke pressed, "Seriously, how'd you even get engaged to her? Felt like you were checking a box."
Noel's laugh was razor-blade sharp. "Because I was."
The room erupted in murmurs. Shirley, spotting Camila in the doorway, purred, "Noey, you didn't propose to Cami out of love?"
Someone snorted. "Love? He's been hung up on you for years."
Noel's answer was a bullet to the chest:
"Her dad did my family a favor. Grandma guilt-tripped me into it. Said she couldn't stand Camila being alone." A pause. "Promised me VP at Anderson Group if I played along."
Laughter. Cruel, cutting.
"Damn, so she literally bought you. Desperate much?"
Luke sneered, "Dump the gold-digger already."
Noel's voice turned glacial. "Let's see if she's even worth the effort."
Gold-digger. Desperate. Worth the effort.
The words carved into Camila like shrapnel. Her vision blurred—from tears or rage, she couldn't tell. A stumble sent her shoulder bumping the door.
Silence.
Every head swiveled toward her.