He Ruined My Reputation for His Cancer-Stricken First Love, So I Returned to My Mafia Family

One month before the wedding, Julian announced publicly that his first love, Freya, was his real fiancée.

"She was kidnapped, and she has cancer. You're so kind—surely you can understand, can't you?"

The very next day, he pushed even further, turning public outrage toward me, as if I were nothing but collateral damage in his world.

While he was pressuring me to give in, an anonymous test result landed in my hands—Freya, three weeks pregnant.

He claimed to be a devout Catholic, opposed to premarital intimacy.

I kept myself pure for five years because of that.

It was all a lie—he simply didn't want to touch me. Yet he got his ex pregnant.

So I dialed a number I'd buried for five years. "Dad, send someone to pick me up."

Julian never knew that my father was the king of Europe's underworld. And I was his only heir.

Now, I would make him pay for what he'd done.

……

My fiancé Julian's first love was abducted after a private party and went missing for exactly three days.

Three days later, she was rescued safely. Julian rushed to the hospital immediately. She lay in the hospital bed, crying as she gripped his hand. "The doctors say I have terminal cancer! The media is harassing me relentlessly about the kidnapping! My career is ruined! I can't go on anymore!"

Shortly after, Julian held an emergency press conference and announced, "Freya is my fiancée."

And at that moment, there was only one month left until my wedding to Julian.

When I confronted him, he fell to his knees before me, his eyes rimmed red, his voice tight. "Moira, Freya has a terminal illness. If I don't step up to protect her, she'll really die. Once this blows over, I promise I'll make it up to you. Please?"

"We can help her in other ways," I said, fighting to stay calm. "Hire better doctors, arrange bodyguards—why do you have to pretend to be her fiancé?"

But he wasn't listening to a word I said.

What I never expected was that the next day, the internet exploded with a tsunami of abuse. Every photo from the kidnapping pointed directly at me.

I received concerned messages from my friends, and from their words, I finally understood—during her captivity, Freya had been forced to take compromising photos. But the media had directed all the blame toward me.

In that instant, I understood. This was Julian's doing. He'd manipulated public opinion, making everyone believe those photos were of me.

I found Julian, trembling from head to toe. He gripped my hand in apparent anguish. "The story's spiraled out of control. Moira, you and Freya have similar builds. You're the only one who can take this on for now."

He reached out to embrace me, but what he said next plunged me into an abyss of ice. "Freya is dying. You're so kind—surely you can understand, can't you?"

I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. "What did you just say?"

"The kidnapping can't be linked to Freya. If people know she was the one taken, her career will be destroyed. She has a brilliant future ahead of her—I can't let this ruin everything." Julian looked at me, his tone so calm it was almost cruel. "But you're different. You've never been in the public eye. Just admit it now, say those photos are yours, and it will all blow over."

I fixed my gaze on the man I'd loved for five years, my voice trembling. "Julian, do you even hear yourself?"

"Before, you asked me to accept Freya as your fiancée, and I did. Now you want me to bear this burden too? Freya can't handle this kind of blow, but you think I can? What about my life? What about my future?"

He bowed his head, his voice pleading. "Moira, please."

I looked at him, and suddenly the man before me felt like a complete stranger—chillingly so.

"Julian," my voice was hoarse, "do you even remember when our wedding is? If I take this on, if I let the whole world judge me, how am I supposed to be your wife?"

"Of course I remember," he said, his tone suddenly impatient. "But Freya needs me more right now! Why can't you just be understanding?"

In that moment, my heart went completely cold.

I laughed, tears streaming down my face. "Fine. I understand now."

He was about to say something when his phone rang. The moment he answered, a soft sobbing came through the speaker.

"Julian, I'm so scared... I dreamed the kidnappers came for me again..." Freya's delicate voice was crystal clear.

Julian's expression softened instantly, his voice turning gentle, as if coaxing a child. "Don't be afraid, Freya. I'm coming to be with you right now. No one will ever hurt you again."

He hung up and turned away without hesitation—without so much as a glance in my direction.

I stood there alone. I don't know how long.

My phone buzzed. An anonymous message. I opened the attachment—a hospital test result.

"Moira, how does it feel to watch your man announce to the world that I'm his fiancée? This is just the appetizer. The real show is still to come."

I stared at the report. The words were unmistakable—Freya, three weeks pregnant.

Three weeks. Exactly when Julian and I had been fighting. When he started staying out all night.

I'd thought he just needed space to cool off. Turns out he'd been spending every night with Freya.

No wonder he'd been so desperate to hold that press conference to protect her. She was carrying his child.

My fingers began to shake uncontrollably.

Julian had once told me with absolute conviction that he came from a conservative Catholic family, that he opposed premarital intimacy, that he considered it a desecration of the sacred bond.

"I want to save our most beautiful moment for our wedding night," he'd said. "It's my faith, and it's my respect for you."

I believed him for five whole years.

Now I finally understood—he wasn't upholding any principle. He simply didn't want to touch me.

Tears blurred my vision. I don't know how long I stood there in a daze.

Until I had no tears left to cry, I pressed the encrypted number I'd buried for five years.

When I left the family, my father had said: "If you ever change your mind, call this number anytime."

He was the Godfather of the Corsican family. The king of Europe's underworld. And I was his only heir.

Five years ago, I'd given up everything for Julian. Looking back now, it was laughable.

The call connected. A deep, familiar voice came through. "Moira? You've finally decided to call."

"Dad." My voice was steady. "Send someone to pick me up."

I paused. "I'm coming home."