Betrayed I Marred My Fiancé's Enemy

Marilyn

Five days before my wedding, I found out my entire life was a lie.

My name is Marilyn Beckham, the heiress to B&H Industries and the fiancée to Dylan DiLaurentis, one of New York's most sought-after bachelors.

On paper, I had it all; the legacy, the love story, the kind of life women cut magazine photos of and tape to their vision boards and I believed it.

The morning of my final bridal fitting started like any other fairy tale scene. My mother sat in the corner of the designer's studio, dabbing her eyes every time I turned in the gown.

My sister Charlotte lounged in a velvet chair, legs crossed, attention buried in her phone, looking beautiful as always, effortlessly so. She was the kind of woman who could roll out of bed and go straight to the runway.

I'd spent years making peace with that. That she'd always be the more beautiful sister.

"Dylan and I talked this morning," Charlotte said without looking up, a small smile playing at her lips.

"Did you know he took over the entire flower arrangement because he didn't trust the event planner's taste? He's obsessed with making this perfect for you." She gushed.

I smiled at my reflection. That was my Dylan, meticulous, devoted, always ten steps ahead.

I should have asked why my fiancé and my sister spoke every morning.

But I didn't.

Later, Charlotte started giggling at whatever was on her screen, the kind of laugh people only gave to one person. The kind that was obvious enough to show she was definitely in love.

"Have you finally found someone?" I smiled at her excited that my sister probably found someone who could match her crazy.

She paused. A strange look crossed her face before she smoothed it over. "You could say that. You'll meet him soon." She stood abruptly, grabbed her bag.

"I have to go."

She was gone before I could ask anything else.

The fitting ran into the evening. My mother left first, kissing my cheek and telling me I was going to be the most beautiful bride New York had ever seen. I stayed to settle a few last details with the designer, my mind already drifting to Dylan.

I had a surprise for him, the documents he'd been fighting to secure for two years, a building acquisition that had cost me three months of quiet maneuvering. I'd done it for him. Because that's what you did for the man you loved.

I clutched the folder against my chest the entire ride to his penthouse.

The front door was ajar when I arrived. I didn't think anything of it. Dylan's housekeeper sometimes left it that way when she was finishing up. I pushed inside, already smiling.

Then I heard it, a sound from the bedroom followed by a feminine laughter.

Dread settled in my gut. My feet stopped moving before my brain caught up.

I told myself it wasn't what I thought. I told myself to turn around. I told myself a lot of things in those five seconds.

I didn't listen.

The bedroom door was open.

Charlotte was straddling him in the center of his bed, my soon-to-be husband's bed wrapped in the silk sheets she had personally selected because she said they'd feel nicer on my skin when I stayed over.

Dylan laughed in a carefree manner. In a way he never quite was with me.

"You always have the craziest ideas, Char," he said.

"And that's why you love me." She leaned down and kissed him, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

“You know, the hardest part was pretending to be in love with her.”

I didn't move. I couldn't. It felt like my heart had stopped beating.

"Once we're married," Dylan said, tucking her hair back, "I'll have full access to the B&H shares. She'll hand them over without question, she trusts me completely. Then it's done. No more hiding. I'd be able to be with you publicly."

"Can't wait baby. She really is too good to us though." Charlotte laughed softly.

Something cold moved through me. I raised my phone and pressed record.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped my phone.

After I'd gotten what I'd needed, I turned, and walked out the same way I came in.

My driver pulled up as I stepped outside. I got in and we started moving.

It wasn't until we crossed the bridge that I let myself feel it, the ground dropping out from under everything I thought was real.

My sister and my fiancé were together for God knows how long right under my nose.

I pressed my knuckles to my mouth and breathed through it. By the time we reached the house, I had made a decision.

I wasn't going to make a scene and cry in front of either of them. I wasn't going to confront them in the heat of this, to give them the satisfaction of watching me fall apart. They would turn the entire story around and make me seem crazy.

They thought they knew me. They thought I was the soft, trusting fool who would hand over everything she had and smile while doing it.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

I wanted revenge, and I needed someone capable of hurting Dylan where it mattered most.

Only one name came to mind.

Raffaele Romanov.

Dylan's cousin, his rival, his greatest enemy and the only man capable of bringing him to his knees.

A slow smile spread across my face. Dylan thought he was stealing my company and Charlotte thought she was stealing my man.

Neither of them realized they had just started a war and by the time I was finished, they would beg me for mercy.