Eight months after the divorce, my phone buzzed with his name. “Come to my wedding,” he said, smug as ever. “She’s pregnant—unlike you.” I froze, fingers tightening around the hospital sheet.
I turned back to Julian, who was staring at the papers in absolute horror. He looked at Fiona, his voice cracking. “Fiona… what did you do? You said this money was from your family’s trust. You said you legally transferred it.”
“She lied, Julian,” I said softly. “Just like she lied to you about why she wanted to get rid of me so badly. She continue reading …
