Caught My Fiancé And Best Friend Of 20 Years On My Couch. They Mocked My Career Success While They Cheated. Now I’m Marrying The Billionaire Who Bankrupted Him.
She was wearing a diamond on her left hand, Ryan’s ring. I felt sick, but I held my head high and walked right past her without acknowledgement.
The second time was worse. It was at a networking event for the city’s annual charity gala, a black-tie affair where everyone who was anyone showed up to see and be seen.
The event raised millions for children’s hospitals. Our firm was a major sponsor, and I’d been chosen to represent us on the planning committee.
Christina cornered me by the bar. She looked different—thinner, more polished.
Her hair was professionally styled and her dress was clearly expensive. Ryan’s money, I thought bitterly.
“Sophia.”
She said, her voice tentative.
“I’ve been hoping we could talk.”
She added.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I said, as I ordered a vodka tonic, not looking at her.
“I know you’re angry.”
She said.
“I’m not angry, Christina. I’m done.”
I said.
I took my drink and walked away, feeling her eyes on my back. I should mention that during these six months, I’d gone to therapy.
Doctor Martinez helped me understand that Christina’s betrayal hurt worse than Ryan’s because I’d lost more than a relationship. I’d lost 20 years of friendship.
The person I trusted most in the world had looked me in the eye, hugged me, and asked about my wedding plans, all while sleeping with my fiancé.
Dr. Martinez also helped me work through my trust issues. She encouraged me to stay open to new relationships, even though I felt like I’d never trust anyone again.
A Chance Meeting at a Coffee Shop
That’s how I met Alexander. It was at a coffee shop near my firm three weeks before the charity gala.
I was working on my laptop, and he sat down at the table next to mine. His phone rang.
He silenced it, apologized for the noise, and went back to his own work. Fifteen minutes later, it rang again.
He looked frustrated but answered this time. I couldn’t help overhearing his side of the conversation.
It was something about investors, a product launch, and timeline concerns. He sounded stressed but patient, explaining complex technical concepts in simple terms.
When he hung up, he caught me looking.
“Sorry about that. Hazard of being in tech. The fires never stop.”
He said.
“No apology necessary. Hazard of being an architect. The deadlines never stop either.”
I said, as I gestured to my laptop screen covered in CAD drawings.
He smiled. It was a nice smile, genuine.
“Alexander Chen.”
He said.
“Sophia Ria.”
I said.
We started talking, just casual conversation at first, but it flowed naturally. He was funny without trying too hard and smart without being condescending.
He asked about my work with actual interest, not the polite but glazed-over expression I usually got when I mentioned architecture.
An hour passed, then two. By the time we both realized we’d been talking instead of working, the sun was setting.
“This might be forward.”
He said.
“But could I take you to dinner sometime? I promise my phone will be on silent.”
He added.
I hesitated. Every instinct told me to say no, to protect myself, to never trust anyone enough to get hurt again.
But Dr. Martinez’s voice was in my head: “Don’t let fear write your story, Sophia.”
“I’d like that.”
I heard myself say.
Our first date was at a small Italian restaurant in North Beach. Alexander showed up in jeans and a blazer, refreshingly underdressed compared to Ryan’s constant need to showcase status.
We talked for four hours. He told me about growing up in San Jose and about his parents’ restaurant.
He spoke of teaching himself to code as a kid and dropping out of Stanford to start his first company at 22.
“It failed spectacularly.”
He said with a laugh.
“Lost everything. Moved back in with my parents. Spent a year working at their restaurant trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.”
He added.
“What did you do?”
I asked.
“Started another company. Applied everything I’d learned. It worked that time.”
He said.
He smiled, but there was humility in it.
“I got lucky.”
He added.
“I doubt luck had much to do with it.”
I said.
He asked about my work, and I found myself telling him about the mixed-use development project. I explained how it combined affordable housing with commercial space using sustainable design principles.
I told him how it could change how people thought about urban development.
“You light up when you talk about your work.”
He observed.
“It’s beautiful.”
He added.
No one had ever said that to me before. We dated for two months before I told him about Ryan and Christina.
We were having dinner at his place, and he’d noticed me tense up when my phone buzzed. It was a message from a mutual friend mentioning Christina’s engagement party.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
He said gently.
“But if you want to, I’m listening.”
He added.
So I told him everything. I spoke of the betrayal, the humiliation, and the way I still flinched when I saw them at events.
I told him how I felt like I’d never fully trust anyone again. Alexander listened without judgment.
When I finished, he reached across the table and took my hand.
“I’m glad they were stupid enough to lose you.”
