The Pop Star Fiancé Who Ordered an Acid Attack to Boost His Image and Keep Me His 'Damaged Trophy'
Part 1
🌟 **My Pop Star Fiancé Ordered an Acid Attack to Disfigure Me — He Didn’t Know I Was Listening.**
I was planning the final details for my wedding to Leo, the country’s biggest pop star.
A week later, a stranger threw acid in my face, leaving me burned and disfigured.
As I lay in a hospital bed, barely conscious, I heard Leo talking to his manager, laughing about how he’d arranged the attack.
He needed me out of the way for a secret marriage to another singer, but he also planned to keep me close, his “damaged trophy” for public sympathy.
His voice, once my comfort, now twisted into a chilling confession of a betrayal far deeper than I could have imagined.
My vision blurred, but my hearing sharpened, picking up every word he exchanged with Marcus, his long-time manager.
“She’s out of the way,” Leo chuckled.
A sound ripped through my fading hopes.
“The wedding’s off, and Naomi can be presented soon enough.”
Marcus murmured something I couldn’t quite catch.
“Don’t worry,” Leo continued.
“She’ll still be useful. Public sympathy, a tragic figure. My damaged trophy.”
Each word was a fresh wound, but I forced myself to remain utterly still, feigning the unconsciousness that was almost real. This was a betrayal far worse than just canceling a wedding for another woman. I wondered how much deeper this could possibly go.
Part 2
My ears strained against the hospital room’s hum.
Leo’s voice dropped, but I still heard him.
“Think of the headlines, Marcus.”
“My brave, suffering fiancé.”
He chuckled again, a cruel sound.
“Her injuries will be perfect for my image.”
“I’ll be the loyal, heartbroken star, standing by her.”
“And Naomi’s new single can drop right after the sympathy wave.”
He was using my pain, my disfigurement, as a prop. My body became a tool for his fame, and for hers. A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach, replacing the fear. This was not just betrayal; it was weaponizing my entire existence. I clenched my fists under the sheet. I had to expose him. But how could I, disfigured and utterly alone, possibly fight a global celebrity like Leo Maxwell?
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