Baking My Cheating Fiancé Alive

I pulled the brand-new Mercedes into the private garage beneath our family’s estate—a gift from my parents ahead of the wedding—and opened the vehicle control app on my phone. Setting the high-heat ozone decontamination cycle, I tapped "Confirm". A notification chime rang out. The cloud dashboard for the 360-degree cabin dashcam suddenly popped up on my screen. And then, bizarre, luminous lines of text began skimming across the video feed like live internet comments: [Oh God, why is the side character running the ozone cycle right now?! The male lead and the snake are in the trunk getting their kicks!] [They’re dead meat. That car has military-grade deadbolts. A hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit plus high-density ozone? They’re going to suffocate in there!] [Shane has a heart condition, and Piper is pregnant! This is ruthless!] I froze, staring at the screen. Entwined on the feed were two unmistakable figures. Shane? Piper? Shane—my devout, gentle fiancé, who was so timid he still blushed when he held my hand in public. Piper—my fragile, wide-eyed best friend, the girl who claimed she couldn't twist the cap off a bottle of sparkling water without assistance. They were writhing together behind my back. "The male lead and his lover? And my luxury engagement gift was their private motel?" A cold, razor-sharp laugh caught in my throat. Without missing a beat, I dragged the heat cycle timer on the app to its absolute maximum. Then, I pulled up my contacts and dialed my future mother-in-law. "Miriam," I said, my voice sweet, breathless, and completely innocent. "Shane just texted me. He says he has a massive surprise for me down in the subterranean garage. Please, bring the aunts and cousins down. You all have to see this." The floating comments on the screen went feral: [She’s insane! She’s calling the whole family!] 1 When the call ended, the dashboard app read that the trunk temperature had already climbed to a hundred and four degrees. My palms were slick with a cold sweat. My chest heaved, nausea rolling through my gut like a rancid tide. For four years, Shane had brought me warm lemon water every single morning. If the water was a single degree too hot, he would pour it out and steep it again. When we crossed the street in Manhattan, his hand was perpetually at the small of my back, shielding me from traffic. When relatives pushed glasses of champagne on me at galas, he smoothly intervened, drinking them in my place. Thirty minutes ago, he had draped his cashmere jacket over my bare shoulders, whispering tenderly that the underground lot was drafty and he couldn't bear to let me catch a cold. And now, that very same man was tangled up with Piper—who was also my cousin Mason’s wife—inside the car my parents had bought for us. The spectral comments rolled faster and faster across the screen: [The poor side character is still waiting for her dream proposal. She has no clue they’ve been plotting for years.] [Piper’s baby belongs to Shane. They’re planning to drain the Ashworth family trusts clean after the wedding.] [Turn it off! If this goes on any longer, someone’s going to die!] As that last line faded, the two figures in the feed finally separated. Piper gave Shane a soft shove, her voice coming through the audio feed with a sickly, breathy whine that made my skin crawl. "Shane... why is it getting so hot in here? I thought you said the climate control hadn't been activated yet." Shane grabbed his discarded linen shirt to mop the sweat from his forehead. His tone remained drenched in that familiar, sickening warmth. "Tara probably tapped the wrong button on the app. Don't worry, sweet girl. I'm right here." "I'm right here." The sheer number of times he had murmured those exact words against my ear. Back then, I thought it was a vow. Now I knew it was just cheap, rehearsed script work, handed out to anyone willing to applaud. Piper looped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his damp chest. "The baby kicked just now. Feel it." Shane leaned down, planting a soft kiss on her temple. "Once we secure the Ashworth equity," he murmured with an easy grin, "I’ll give you and our boy a real home. A real name." Standing by the driver's side, I caught my reflection in the side mirror. Calmly, methodically, I pulled a tube of crimson lipstick from my purse and touched up my lips. No tears. The mascara stayed perfect. A sharp ding echoed through the concrete cavern. The elevator doors slid open, and out stepped Miriam, flanked by Shane’s older sister, Brenda, and a flock of distant cousins. Bringing up the rear was my cousin, Mason, carrying two bottles of vintage scotch. "Tara, darling!" Miriam beamed, sweeping toward me and grabbing both my hands in an iron grip. "This beauty had to cost at least two hundred grand, didn't it? Your parents certainly know how to spoil their girl. Our Shane is a blessed man." Brenda piped up, raising her voice so the echo bounced off the concrete walls. "Mom, the Ashworths have old family money. A car is pocket change to them! Besides, once the vows are said, what’s hers is his anyway." A chorus of polite, avaricious laughter followed. In their minds, the pink slip was already stamped with the Bishop name. Mason glanced around, his brow furrowed. "Where’s Piper? She said she was coming down early to help you set up decorations for Shane's surprise. Her phone goes straight to voicemail." "She went to pick up a few extra floral arrangements," I said smoothly, my fingers tightening subtly around my phone. "She should be down any minute." Miriam, practically vibrating with excitement, took a step toward the trunk. "Well, what on earth did Shane hide in there? Let me take a peek first!" I caught her elbow, offering a soft, demure smile. "Miriam, please. Shane made me swear it would be a surprise. If everyone stands back and waits, the reveal will be so much better." Miriam chuckled, preening with motherly pride. "That boy has always been a hopeless romantic. Tara, you’d better treat him like a king." The relatives obediently scattered behind the concrete pillars, whispering among themselves about how they would clap and cheer the second Shane popped out. Inside the trunk, the sensor spiked past a hundred and twenty degrees. Piper began to cough violently, her manicured hands pounding against the locked rear seats. "Shane... why won’t the latch catch? My stomach... it really hurts." Shane hammered the internal trunk release over and over. Nothing happened. Once the security deadbolt engaged, the interior manual overrides were entirely disabled. The luxury cabin was an impenetrable vault. The charming, poised gentleman who had just been whispering sweet nothings didn't even bother to pull his trousers up all the way. His face was distorted with panic. "Stop crying!" he hissed, his voice cracking. "Find a way out!" Losing his head, he reared back and kicked the roof of the compartment. "Thump! Thump!" The heavy, muffled impacts reverberated through the empty garage. Mason froze, his head snapping toward the car. "Is there somebody inside?" Setting the scotch bottles onto the pavement, he strode toward the rear bumper. 2 Mason reached the tailgate and rapped his knuckles against the carbon fiber. Two frantic thuds answered him, rocking the heavy chassis on its suspension. Miriam hurried over, laughing nervously as she tried to spin the narrative. "That boy! He’s always so mild-mannered, but look at him making such a theatrical entrance for a proposal!" Brenda chuckled along, though her eyes darted warily. "I bet he's packed the back with helium balloons. Tara, you really found yourself a keeper." On my phone screen, the high-def lens showed a scene descending into madness. Piper’s blouse was half-torn, sweat plastering her styled hair to her graying cheeks. She was curled into a miserable ball in the corner, clutching her stomach with trembling fingers. "Shane... I can't breathe," she whimpered, gasping for air. "Do something... please, save me..." Shane didn't even look at her. He threw his entire body weight against the rear latch, his shoulder slamming into the reinforced metal. With every impact, that smooth, cultured veneer peeled away, revealing the raw, ugly desperation underneath. Mason brushed his fingertips against the trunk lid and jerked his hand back with a hiss. "Why is this metal scorching hot? Tara, what did you turn on?" "Just the ozone decontamination cycle," I replied, tilting the screen just enough so he could see the technical manual. "The dealership said new interiors off-gas toxic chemicals. It heats the cabin to sterilize it." "Where the hell is Piper?" Mason asked again, a hard edge of dread creeping into his tone. "She said she was getting flowers. Maybe her battery died." While speaking, I casually tapped the app, routing the dashcam's high-fidelity audio straight to the vehicle’s external speaker system and cranking the volume to maximum. At first, only ragged, animalistic panting crackled over the PA. The relatives exchanged amused glances, assuming it was some strange intro to a romantic soundtrack, whispering about whether Shane would emerge on one knee with a velvet box. And then, Piper’s hysterical, sobbing scream shattered the silence. "Shane! Hold me! Block the heat vent, please, I'm burning up!" Miriam’s wide smile froze mid-beam. "Why... why is there a woman’s voice?" "Must be part of the audio package for the proposal," I said, gazing at my phone with a detachment so chilling it startled even me. On the screen, Piper reached out blindly, trying to pull Shane in front of the blistering vent to shield herself. Shane shoved her backward with vicious force. "Get off me! Stop crowding the vent!" "I'm carrying your baby!" she shrieked. "Are you out of your mind?! Look at the situation! Who gives a damn about the baby right now?!" That roar tore through the external speakers with deafening clarity. Mason went completely rigid, the blood draining from his face. Miriam scrambled forward, her hands waving frantically. "It’s a movie! It’s a clip from some dramatic film he’s playing for the mood! Shane would never say something like that!" Inside the car, Shane had abandoned all pretense of humanity. The emergency release seam had a hairline gap where a tiny ribbon of cooler air trickled in. He pinned himself against it, greedily sucking in oxygen, his heavy knees digging ruthlessly into Piper’s hips. Piper writhed, sobbing, clawing at his shins. "You're crushing him! Get off me!" "Shut up! Make another sound and I swear to God I'll kick your teeth in!" With that, he planted his shoe directly on Piper’s collarbone, using her body as leverage to push his face closer to the seam. This was the man who used to tear up when he saw a stray dog in the rain. To buy himself three more seconds of breathable air, he was literally using his pregnant mistress as a stepping stone. The screen lit up with another wave of text: [Look at him. This is who the side character gave four years of her youth to.] [Piper deserves it. She didn't hesitate for a second when they plotted to steal Tara’s inheritance.] [Open the door! The fetus is going into distress!] I watched Piper weep in agony under his heel, and my mind flashed back to three weeks ago. She had clung to my arm at the bridal boutique, her eyes welling with joyful tears as she helped me select my veil. "Tara, seeing you marry the love of your life makes me happier than anything in the world," she had said. Now I knew why she was so happy. Shane was finally about to get his hands on the Ashworth estate. Inside the trunk, a desperate clatter sounded. Shane snatched Piper’s fallen phone, frantically jabbing at the screen to dial 911. But the vehicle’s high-tech privacy jammer had activated alongside the security lockdown. There was zero signal. "Why is there no service?!" Shane slammed the phone against the steel wall in a blind rage, finally throwing his head back and screaming at the top of his lungs. "Is anybody out there?! Help! Help us!" The raw, frantic scream blared from the speakers. Miriam’s face went pasty white. "That... that really is Shane! Open the car! Open it right now!" "Miriam," I murmured, meeting her panicked gaze, "I thought you said it was just a recording." "To hell with the proposal! Open the goddamn doors!" She lunged to snatch my phone, but Mason’s heavy arm shot out, catching her by the wrist. Inside, another muffled, choked wail tore through the air. Mason pressed his ear flat against the tinted rear glass. He listened for three long, agonizing seconds. When he turned back, his eyes were bloodshot, fixing on me with terrifying intensity. "There's a woman in there," he breathed, his voice trembling violently. "Tara... why does she sound like Piper?" 3 Every eye in the garage swung toward me. Miriam clamped her manicured nails into my forearm, her voice shrill with hysteria. "Shane has a heart condition! If something happens to him in that oven, you will answer for it, do you hear me?!" A humorless laugh nearly escaped my lips. Her golden-boy son was caught pants-down in my dowry car with my cousin's wife, and she still thought she held the moral high ground. "The electronics must be glitching," I said smoothly, stepping back and slipping effortlessly from her grasp. "It’s a brand-new import. I don't know how to override the system manually." Mason paid no attention to our exchange. He hammered his fists against the reinforced glass. "Piper?! Piper, is that you?!" Inside the sweltering dark, Piper heard her husband’s voice. She went utterly, petrifiedly still. She clamped both hands over her mouth, choking back her sobs. The oppressive heat had drained all color from her face, and between her bare thighs, dark red streaks were beginning to pool against the leather. "The baby... Shane... our baby..." Piper reached out with shaking fingers, clutching the cuff of his trousers, begging him. "Fan me with your shirt... please... save him. This is the son you always wanted..." Shane glanced down, saw the dark smear of blood against his designer hem, and recoiled in pure disgust. "Let go of me! You’re getting blood all over my clothes!" "I'm bleeding out, Shane! Help me!" "We can make another damn baby! Right now, we need to get the hell out of here!" With a cruel twist of his leg, he kicked her hands away. Piper’s spine slammed against the chassis, and she curled inward, letting out an agonizing, animalistic shriek. Mason heard every single syllable through the speakers. "Tara," he choked out, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were on the verge of splintering. "Turn the volume up. Louder." Without a word, I pushed the slider to one hundred percent. Four years ago, the first time Shane took me to meet his college fraternity brothers, one of them made an off-color joke at my expense. Shane had instantly turned cold, standing up to publicly declare that I was the woman he intended to honor and protect for the rest of his days. After that dinner, he apologized to me ten times over, blaming himself for not vetting his friends better. Now I saw it for what it was: performance art. A meticulously curated persona designed to hook an heiress. Brenda was pounding on the glass now, frantic. "Shane! Stop playing games! Get out of there right now!" The shouting from outside sparked a desperate surge of adrenaline in Shane. He dropped to his knees, clawing through the emergency kit mounted in the recessed wheel well. His fingers closed around a heavy steel Phillips-head screwdriver. "Someone’s out there," he breathed, eyes wild. "If I shatter the quarter-panel, we can crawl through." Piper threw her arms around his waist, weeping. "No! We’re half-naked! Mason is right outside!" "Get off me!" "If he sees us like this, our lives are over!" "If I don't break this glass, we’re going to die in here, you idiot!" Piper shook her head hysterically, begging him to pull his clothes together, begging him to fabricate an excuse, clinging to the delusional fantasy that she could still save her marriage—that she could still play the sweet, supportive best friend in my life. Shane’s last shred of patience snapped. "You miserable bitch! You’re the one who begged to sneak into the trunk for a thrill!" "You said it was safe!" "If they catch us, I'm telling them you ambushed me! You threw yourself at me!" Piper shattered. "Shane Bishop, I am carrying your child! How can you do this to me?!" The answer was a sickening, resounding slap. The sharp crack echoed brutally through the speakers. The assembled relatives went dead, pale-faced silent. Miriam desperately tried to claw back control. "He... he must be delirious from the heat! That woman is clearly an intruder who ambushed him! He’s just defending himself!" Mason turned his head, his voice dangerously low. "You knew who was in there?" "How would I know?!" Miriam stammered, shrinking away from his gaze. "I’m just guessing!" On the monitor, Shane shoved Piper into the far corner and raised the heavy steel tool. He drove it into the corner of the small rear window. "Crack." A web of spiderweb fractures blossomed across the safety glass. Mason pointed a shaking finger at the cracks. "This isn't a proposal. They're trapped." Dropping his scotches, Mason sprinted toward the pillar, tore a heavy red fire extinguisher from its wall bracket, and marched back toward the car with murder in his eyes. 4 Mason raised the heavy steel cylinder high above his shoulders and slammed it into the fractured window. "Bang! Bang! Bang!" The impacts echoed like gunshots through the subterranean vault, the cracks branching out into an opaque sheet of white. Miriam threw herself forward, grabbing at Mason’s jacket. "This car cost a quarter of a million dollars! If you smash it, can you afford to replace it?!" Mason violently shoved her off. "People are dying in there, and you’re worried about the paint?!" "My son is in there! Of course I'm worried! But the car belongs to Tara—let her unlock it!" Miriam spun on me, baring her teeth. "Unlock it, you useless girl! If anything breaks, you pay for it!" I didn't blink. I kept my eyes pinned to the video feed. Shane was staring at the expanding web of cracks, his expression twisting from terror into pure, calculated dread. The moment that window gave way, the entire world would see him stripped to his waist, tangled in sweat and blood with Mason’s wife. The high-society wedding would vanish. The corporate VP position my father had arranged for him would vanish. The luxury brownstone in Tribeca would vanish. His four-year masterpiece of the devoted, selfless fiancé would be obliterated in broad daylight. Behind him, Piper was losing consciousness, the pool of crimson widening beneath her. "Someone’s breaking the glass..." she wheezed weakly, trying to push herself up. "We’re saved..." Shane whipped around, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her back down into the shadows. "Your husband cannot see you like this." Piper stared at him, glazed and bewildered. "We’re suffocating... and you care about appearances?" "Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll tell them you passed out beside the car and I climbed in to give you CPR!" Piper let out a broken, wheezing laugh. "We’re half-naked, Shane... Do you think everyone on earth is as blind as you think they are?" Shane’s eyes went dead. Snatching his discarded dress shirt from the floor, he clamped the bunched-up fabric directly over Piper’s mouth and nose. Piper fought back with primal, thrashing terror. Her nails dug into his forearms, tearing deep, bloody gouges through his skin. "Mmph... off... let... go..." The muffled, horrific gasps hissed through the car’s external sound system. Brenda clutched her head, her voice trembling. "What is Shane doing? Why does it sound like he's suffocating someone?" Miriam lunged toward me like a wild animal. "Turn that speaker off! You don't air family matters in front of an audience!" "Family matters?" I looked her dead in the eye, my tone ice-cold. "A minute ago, you said it was a romantic recording." Miriam opened her mouth, but nothing came out. On the screen, Shane leaned his full weight onto the shirt, his knee driving into Piper’s shoulder to pin her down. That gentle, soulful face that had once smiled at me across candlelit dinners was completely replaced by a predator’s mask. If Piper suffocated into a coma, he could pull his clothes on, smash the remaining glass from the inside, and craft whatever noble rescue story he wanted. To preserve his reputation, he was ready to murder the mother of his unborn child. "Smash!" Mason drove the extinguisher into the window frame again. The safety glass was bowing inward. "Piper! If you're in there, say something!" Mason screamed. The sound of her husband’s desperate voice gave Piper one final, dying surge of strength. She locked her hands around Shane’s wrists, tearing at the fabric over her mouth with everything she had left. Shane bared his teeth, leaning in until his lips brushed her ear, whispering a venomous threat: "Make a sound, and I swear to God I will never claim this bastard." That sentence snuffed out the last ember of fight in Piper's eyes. A few seconds later, her hands fell limp, slapping weakly onto the bloodstained leather. "Hit it again, Mason!" I shouted. Miriam rushed me, trying to shove me aside. "Are you trying to kill my boy?! The flying glass will cut his throat!" "There’s an unborn child in there," I said flatly. "That whore has no morals! If she dies, she had it coming!" The words slipped out of Miriam’s mouth before she could stop them. Mason stopped mid-swing, turning his head slowly to fix his aunt with a gaze of pure, murderous rage. "You really did know." Miriam realized her fatal slip and scrambled backward in terror. With a final, deafening roar, Mason swung the extinguisher like a battering ram. The entire reinforced window frame buckled and blew inward. A blast of suffocating, chemical-laced heat billowed out into the cool garage. Everyone instinctively recoiled, coughing from the sharp sting of ozone. Mason batted away the acrid vapor, snapped on his phone’s flashlight, and thrust the beam into the dark trunk.