Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 07

Eight Fiancés. One Queen. Zero Regrets Chapter 07

The police showed their badges.

The livestreamers broke first.

“We were just paid to be here!” one of them shouted.

Zane looked up. “Payment records are already saved.”

The other one quickly added, “We didn’t write the script!”

Dashiell smiled. “But you delivered it with enthusiasm.”

Maren’s face went pale.

She tried to step backward and slip away.

Ford looked at her. “Ms. Delaney—stay.”

The screen switched to her chat logs.

She had filmed my trip to the mall, sent Grant my schedule, and brainstormed headlines with him.

One message stood out:

[Women hate being called unclean, especially now that she’s pretending to be an heiress.]

Colt scoffed. “Birds of a feather.”

Maren’s eyes filled with tears. “I was just jealous.”

I looked at her. “Jealousy makes you spread lies? That’s a great defense—in a criminal trial.”

Someone in the crowd laughed out loud.

Grant, still restrained, wasn’t finished.

“You think this clears her? She chased me in high school. Everyone knows that!”

I nodded. “Yes. I chased you.”

I admitted it openly.

“I was blind. My taste was terrible. My brain wasn’t working. But chasing you doesn’t mean I slept with you. Liking you doesn’t give you the right to destroy my reputation.”

The room fell silent.

I clicked the remote.

The next slide appeared.

A forensic report on the old school forum posts.

The backup email connected to the original account belonged to Grant.

He had withheld my scholarship application.

I went to his house to get it back.

The next day, the forum post appeared:

[Poor transfer student shows up at night begging for love.]

Restored chat logs:

Me: [Do you have my application? The deadline is tomorrow. I’ll wait downstairs for ten minutes. If it’s inconvenient, leave it at the gatehouse.]

Grant: [Leave me alone.]

The next slide appeared.

Hospital care records.

My grandmother’s critical condition notice.

My signed leave documents.

All private details were blacked out.

Only the timeline and official stamps remained.

Tristan stepped forward.

“Aurora Vance spent those six months in the hospital caring for a dying relative. The claims of pregnancy, being kept, and promiscuity were all fabricated.”

“Grant Holloway received her leave documentation at the time. He knew the truth.”

Grant’s face turned ashen.

Someone finally said what everyone was thinking, “Disgusting. He used her feelings and then destroyed her.”

“White knight? More like a wolf.”

Then a woman stood up. “I can testify too.”

I froze.

It was Tessa Grove.

She had sat behind me in high school.

While the entire class laughed at me, she secretly left milk on my desk.

Tessa held up a recorder.

Her voice trembled, but it was firm.

“Back then, during a gathering with some boys, Grant said Aurora’s notes were useful. He said her family was too messy for him to ever truly like her.”

The recording played.

Young Grant’s voice came through.

Lazy.

Dismissive.

“Date her? Don’t joke. With her background? I’d have to be insane. But her notes? They’re useful. Free labor—why would I say no?”

The ballroom fell completely silent.

I listened and thought: God, I was pathetic. I mistook his scraps for kindness. His use of me for affection. His coldness for circumstances beyond his control.

Grant glared at Tessa. “How do you have that?”

Her eyes were red. “I was too scared to come forward back then. But now I’m not.”

She looked at me. “Aurora. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

The person who owed me something was standing right there.

I turned to Grant and held out the microphone.

“Apologize.”