A month after my breakup, I was finally moving on, feeling like I had taken the first steps toward healing. But everything changed in an instant when I saw my sister handing a thick envelope of cash to my ex-fiancé, the man who had shattered my heart. My breath hitched, my hands turned cold. Were they together? Was she betraying me? The truth turned out to be far worse than I could have ever imagined. I met Richard a year ago at a charity event my family’s foundation was hosting.

When Victoria returned to her grandfather’s home in Iowa, she felt an ache in her heart. It had been years since she last stepped inside, but everything felt frozen in time. The familiar scent of old wood and dust filled the air. Her eyes scanned the living room, and there it was—her grandfather’s favorite sofa, the same one she used to jump on as a child. She smiled to herself and walked over, running her fingers along the worn-out fabric before finally sitting down. As she sank into the cushions,

It was a terrible, terrible day when sixteen-year-old Adam walked through the front door, soaking wet from the heavy rain that had poured down all afternoon. But despite his clothes sticking to his skin and the puddle forming beneath his feet, he was smiling. “Those clothes are gonna make you sick, young man. Call the driver next time,” his father, Steve, said, eyeing him disapprovingly. “It’s fine, Dad,” Adam said cheerfully. “I met this really nice guy at school, and he helped me today. I gave him my umbrella because