He Murdered My Father For Her

My fiancé, Archer, left me at the altar 98 times for the same woman, Kennedy. Each time, she'd orchestrate a new disaster, and he'd rush to her side, leaving me in a wedding dress to face the humiliation alone.

But I always forgave him. Years ago, when I was a bullied college student on the verge of jumping off a bridge, he saved me. He became my hero, my protector, the man I owed my life to.

Tonight, I overheard the truth. "You used her," Kennedy said. "You orchestrated her father's 'accident' to get me his liver."

Archer's reply shattered my world. "She was just a means to an end. It was always you."

He didn't just use me; he murdered my father for her. Then, to appease Kennedy's jealousy, he tried to kill me with a seafood allergy, kicked me off a cliff, and left me for dead.

But I survived. Rescued by my former mentor, I erased my identity and became a top scientist on a deep-space mission. Four years later, I'm back, and this time, I won't be a pawn in their game. I'll be the one who ends it.