The Fake Heiress Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

That was the bitter truth I had to face on the day of my engagement.
It all unraveled when my fiancé, Lucian Ferguson, overheard the fake heiress muttering in her sleep.
"Raina, please don't burn me with the curling iron again. I'll give you back your parents… and Lucian."
Faced with my parents' fury and Lucian's crushing disappointment, I finally understood—Elaine Simpson was terrified I'd steal everything from her.
Their solution? Shipping me off to a "reform" school.
For a year, I endured beatings, abuse, electric shocks, and relentless torment from the other girls.
On the nights I wanted to end it all, Lucian's promise echoed in my mind: "Once you've completed your reform, we'll get married."
But what he didn't know? He'd be waiting for a wedding that would never happen.
The facility doors creaked open, and I stumbled out—legs shaky, head freshly shaved like all the others, a tattered cloth bag slung over my shoulder.
The sunlight hit my face like a slap. Blinding.
I glanced at the instructor who'd unlocked the gate. He flinched and quickly looked away.
Lucian stepped out of the car and took my bag. When his eyes landed on my rough, shorn scalp, his brow furrowed.
"Do you understand what you did wrong?" he demanded.
I tilted my head slightly. "...Maybe."
He ignored my tone. "Go apologize to Elaine. She's forgiving. Get in."
Just as his hand touched the car door, he paused and shot me a warning look. "If you hurt Elaine again, we're done."
"She saved me. I won't let anyone hurt her."
I kept my gaze down, face blank.
Lucian's voice hardened. "Your parents said if you behave, they'll take you back. If not…"
A cold edge crept into his words. "...You'll stay in that place forever."
My fingers twitched. I gave a stiff nod.
The moment I slid into the passenger seat, Lucian reached for me—
I flinched violently. "Ah—don't hit me! I was wrong!"
Lucian froze.
I curled into myself, arms shielding my head. "I'm terrible! I messed up! Just—not my head, please! It hurts…"
For a second, pain flickered in his eyes—then suspicion. "Stop faking," he snapped. "That school doesn't allow beatings."
His grip bit into my shoulders as he forced me to face him.
"Who taught you to act like this?" His stare burned through me. "They only follow routines there. No one touches you."
But the tremors in my hands? The way my breath hitched?
Those weren't acts.
And the truth?
It was far worse than he realized.