Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
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.The business meeting went smoothly, wrapping up half a day ahead of schedule.
On the drive back, I stared at the GPS showing his town just twenty miles away. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Should I go, or should I turn back?
Logic pleaded with me to trust Logan and stop this paranoid second-guessing.
Yet gut-wrenching anxiety gripped my chest like a cold fist, suffocating me.
I pulled into a highway rest stop and opened our WhatsApp chat.
I typed: "Hey babe, you must be exhausted from the renovations. I miss you."
The screen flashed "typing..." several times, only to go silent.
Ten minutes later, he replied with a photo.
It showed stacks of tiles and bags of cement piled in a dim corner, too blurry to make out any real details.
Caption: "Just wrapped up details with the builder. Wrecked. Be good, wait till I finish this crazy stretch."
That single photo sealed my decision.
On the designer's invoice, I had specifically picked custom Italian marble tiles with a distinctive vein.
The tiles in his photo were the cheapest, generic white ceramic squares.
Taking a deep breath, I reset my GPS and steered the car straight toward his hometown.
Half an hour later, I rolled into the unfamiliar rural town.
The roads were narrow, making my city sedan stick out like a sore thumb.
Following his old offhand remarks, I headed toward the eastern edge of town.
Sure enough, on the outskirts stood a freshly updated two-story house with glaring white tiled siding, standing out sharply against the drab, weathered cottages around it.
The courtyard gate was shut, looking grand and pristine.
I parked down the road and stepped out, my legs trembling beneath me.
A few neighborhood women were sitting on porch chairs across the lane, gossiping and eyeing me, the stranger in town.
I steadied my breath, walked up, and forced a polite smile.
"Hi there. Excuse me, is this Logan's new place?"
A woman in a floral blouse looked me up and down with sharp curiosity.
"You looking for Logan? Who are you to him?"
My stomach dropped. My nails bit into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm.
"I'm a coworker of his. Just driving through on a business trip and thought I'd drop by."
"He mentioned he was renovating his new house, so I wanted to see if he needed a hand."
At the word "coworker," her guard dropped, though a flicker of suspicion lingered in her eyes.
"Help? What kind of help could you offer?"
I smiled smoothly, pointing toward the house.
"I know a few wholesale suppliers in construction. He mentioned he was short on good tiles, so I thought I'd check in."
The suspicion completely melted from her face, replaced by gossipy warmth.
"Oh, that's mighty kind of you! It's his wedding house, after all—can't cut corners on that."
"Wedding house?" I faked surprise. "He's getting married? He never mentioned that at work!"
The woman waved her hand, sporting a look that screamed *how could you not know?*
"Not hitched yet, but real soon. Held the big engagement party with Phoebe from the next town just last month. Gave her folks twenty grand in cash as a wedding settlement."
Another neighbor leaned in, lowering her voice:
"Shotgun wedding, they say."
"Just waiting on the house to wrap up. Wedding's set for before the holidays."
Every word after that blurred into static.
My mind went completely blank, my ears ringing with deafening silence.I don't even remember how I walked away from those women.
All I remember was the blinding glare of the afternoon sun burning my eyes as I turned my back.
I retreated into my car, slammed the door, and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned bone-white.
It felt like a concrete slab had slammed into my chest, choking every breath out of me.
I wanted to scream, to cry, but my eyes were bone-dry. Not a single tear would fall.
I sat frozen for five minutes—maybe ten.
Those words echoed violently inside my skull: *Wedding house. Engagement party. Shotgun wedding.*
I didn't break down, and I didn't throw a tantrum.
Beyond peak rage and betrayal lies absolute, icy clarity.
Storm in and yell at him?
Slap that woman across the face?
That would let him off way too easy.
I was going to make him pay the most agonizing price imaginable for what he did.
Reaching into my purse, I popped in a wireless earbud.
Then, I pulled up my phone's voice recorder app, clasped the phone in my right hand, screen facing my palm.
Deep breath. Another deep breath.
I fixed my face into an expression of casual, pleasant surprise, like a colleague dropping in by pure coincidence.
Then, I pushed open the car door and walked toward the gate with steady, measured strides.
The courtyard gate was unlocked; a light push swung it open.
The yard was neatly swept, lined with potted roses along the brick wall.
A man sat on a low stool with his back turned to me, carefully peeling a tangerine.
Beside him sat a young woman in a loose maternity dress, her baby bump clearly visible.
In her arms rested a toddler, barely a year old.
That man was Logan.
He peeled a tangerine slice, delicately stripped away the white fibers, and fed it to the woman.
She parted her lips with a sweet smile, eating it with pure contentment.
Then, she looked down, cooing at the baby boy on her lap.
The child suddenly stretched out his tiny hand toward Logan and babied out:
"Daddy."
That single word exploded like a bomb over my head.
Whatever composure I was clinging to nearly shattered on the spot.
It wasn't just an engagement. It wasn't just a pregnancy. He already had an older child!
For five whole years, what kind of pathetic, delusional fool had I been playing in his web of lies?
Perhaps I had stood there in silence for too long; Logan seemed to sense something.
He slowly turned around.
The second his eyes landed on me, every ounce of warmth on his face instantly petrified.
His pupils shrank to pinpricks, raw panic flashing through his eyes.
Yet that terror lasted only a fraction of a second before he violently buried it.
He stood up, brushed the citrus peel off his hands, and flashed a cold, dismissive smirk I had never seen before.
He looked at me as if I were nothing more than an unwelcome nuisance.
The woman, Phoebe, sensed the hostility. She scrambled up with the baby clutched tight, staring at me with sharp distrust.
"What are you doing here?"
Logan spoke, his tone freezing and distant, as if I were a complete stranger off the street.I looked at him, studying the face I had loved unconditionally for five years.
Once, those eyes held nothing but devotion and tenderness for me.
Now, they held only disgust and irritation.
I smiled—faint, razor-sharp.
"Why shouldn't I be here? I just wanted to see how the renovations on our new home were coming along."
I deliberately stressed the word "our."
Logan's face darkened instantly.
Beside him, Phoebe turned ghost-pale. Her grip on the child tightened, hostility flaring in her gaze.
"What kind of garbage are you talking? This is Logan's and my house. What does it have to do with you?"
Logan immediately stepped forward, shielding Phoebe behind his back like a devoted protector.
He glared at me, his voice sharp with anger.
"Serena, stop causing a scene and get the hell out of here."
Causing a scene?
I emptied my life savings for him, only to be told I was "causing a scene"?
My heart felt like it had been dropped into an ice bath, completely numb.
Yet my smile never slipped.
I looked past his shoulder, fixing my gaze on Phoebe. My voice remained soft and calm.
"You must be Phoebe. You just asked whose house this is—so let me ask you: who paid for the renovations?"
Phoebe frowned. "Logan paid with his own savings, obviously."
"Is that what he told you?"
I nodded slowly, then shifted my icy gaze back to Logan.
"Well then, Mr. Self-Made Man who supposedly saved two hundred thousand dollars all on his own... care to explain if you want me to pull up the bank transfer records right now?"
Logan and Phoebe both froze, their faces draining of color.
Tears welled up in Phoebe's eyes as she stared at Logan in sheer shock and betrayal.
"Logan, what is she talking about? What transfer? What renovation money?"
Logan clearly hadn't anticipated me being this blunt and ruthless. Flustered, he tried to console Phoebe while glaring daggers at me.
"Serena, what the hell do you want? Whatever is between us, we settle in private. Don't bring it here!"
"In private?"
A dry laugh escaped my throat.
"When you conned me out of my money, why didn't you think about handling it 'in private'?"
"When you took my hard-earned savings to buy a house and throw an engagement party for another woman, why didn't you care about 'in private'?"
My voice wasn't loud, but every syllable sliced through the heavy air.
Phoebe's tears finally cascaded down. She shoved Logan away, her voice shaking violently.
"Logan! Tell me what's going on! Right now!"
Cornered and exposed, Logan finally dropped his mask, his face twisting with humiliated fury.
He turned on me and barked:
"Enough! Serena, I'll pay you back your damn money! Now get the fuck out of here!"
"Get out?"
My smile widened.
"Logan, do you really think I'm still the naive little girl who swallowed every single lie you fed me?"
Slowly, I raised my right hand, turning my phone screen toward his face.
On the display, the bright red audio recording timer was ticking away, second by second.
Logan's pupils dilated in horror. The blood drained entirely from his features.
Staring right into his panicked eyes, I enunciated every word with crystal precision:
"Tell me, Logan—does this count as unjust enrichment in civil court, or straight-up criminal fraud?"
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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