Chapter 002: Fucked like a whore

“Stop the noise,” I murmur, my voice thick with sleep.

“Stop being so loud.”

My words stutter in and out, heavy as my eyelids. But the noise doesn’t fade—it grows closer.

My eyes snap open.

A woman’s giggle drifts from the hallway, followed by clicking heels on the marble tiles.

My stomach twists. The sounds get closer—too close.

Before I can gather a thought, the door slams open.

Through my swollen eyes, I blink at the figures in the doorway.

Ryder.

Isla.

Both frozen, staring at me, their expressions sharp with one unspoken question—what the hell?

“Maya!!! What the fucking hell?” Ryder barks. “Before I even start—who gave you the right to be in my room?”

He storms toward me, eyes blazing. “Tell me. Who gave you that right? Are we mates now?”

My throat tightens.

He yanks the duvet off me and tosses it aside like it’s filth.

Isla lets out a mocking laugh. I swallow the lump in my throat as Ryder’s gaze rakes over me. He shakes his head—his disappointment sharp and obvious.

“Look at you,” he spits. “Maya, I’m fucking sick of your existence.

Your whole existence disgusts me.” His finger jabs toward the bed. “And what the hell is that stain?”

Slowly, I turn. A hot wave of shame crashes over me.

Isla steps closer, her heels clicking again.

She crouches, touches the stain, then brings her fingers to her nose. Another burst of laughter rips out of her—louder, crueler.

“Babe,” she chokes on her giggles, clutching her stomach, “it’s… it’s foundation.”

Her grin widens, merciless. “Sis, are you that insecure? Using makeup on your body?”

Ryder cuts in, “What the hell are you even wearing? Maya, don’t you get tired of yourself? Don’t you get tired of humiliating yourself? Don’t you get tired of… existing? Isn’t it about time you just died?”

His words slice through me.

My eyes burn, but I force the tears back.

No. Not here. Not in front of her. Not in front of him. They can’t see me weak. Not both of them.

Before I can think, Ryder grabs my wrist and yanks me off the bed. Pain jolts through me as I hit the ground.

Isla steps forward, arms folded, her smirk dripping with victory. “I told you not to marry her,” she says, tilting her head like she pities him. “You should’ve chosen me instead.”

He shrugs. “You know I didn’t have a choice. Granny made it clear—the marriage was for the family business.”

“Argh. And just because of a family business, you’re stuck with this… uhm… corpse in lingerie.”

“Fuck.” Ryder grimaces, glaring down at me. “She makes me want to puke.”

He points to the bed. “Before I get back, I want whatever that is… gone.”

I nod weakly.

And just like that, he turns his back on me. His hand slides around Isla’s waist, pulling her in. She giggles, leaning into him like she belongs there.

Then—he kisses her. Right there. Soft. On the lips.

Right in front of me.

They walk out together, the door swinging shut behind them.

Silence.

I sit on the floor, shaking.

Tears stream down my face—the tears I’ve been holding back.

I pat myself. “Don’t cry, baby—don’t.”

Why does this always have to happen to me? Why me?

I look down at my palms, trembling.

Gathering what little strength I have left, I force myself to my feet. My whole body trembles as I walk to the mirror.

For a moment, I look like a jump scare.

My mascara is smeared across my face, the lipstick I carefully applied now smudged onto my cheeks.

That’s why. That’s why they look at me like a joke.

“I stayed up all night, waiting… just for him to come back and humiliate me,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

My heart aches so badly I can’t even cry.

I turn away from the mirror and sink onto the bed.

The stain of foundation on the sheets.

“Shit… why am I so dumb? I fucking used a white bedspread.”

The humiliation of him hurting me when we were alone was already unbearable. But in front of her—my enemy, the one who orchestrated all of this—it felt like death.

In her head, she was the icon. The winner.

And me? I was the joke.

With the mess I created, I really did look like the joker.

Just in the middle of my soliloquy,

my phone suddenly lights up.

It beeps endlessly—almost shrieking. What the hell… why so many texts at once?

I glance at the screen and see the time—11 a.m.

“Oh—oh, the Wi-Fi just connected properly,” I mutter.

So who the hell is texting me now?

I drag myself to the desk and pick up my phone.

A T*****r notification glows bright on the screen.

My heart thunders against my ribcage.

I’ve been tagged eighty-seven times in the comments of a post by Paper Lantern, the famous blogger.

I swallow the heavy lump in my throat.

What could this be about? Paper Lantern only posts about sports drama or the messy lives of celebrities.

So what’s happening now? I ask myself, chest tightening.

My hands tremble as I tap the notification.

It takes me straight to the post.

A headline stares back at me—bold and merciless:

The Ice King Gets Cozy With His Cheerleader: Trouble in Paradise for Hockey Royalty?

Then come the pictures.

My husband.

My sister.

On a private beach.

She’s in a bikini. Ryder is in nothing but shorts.

His hand is on her waist. The other… on her ass.

And they’re kissing.

My head goes blank. For a moment, I can’t even identify the emotion burning in my chest. Rage? Betrayal? Nausea? All of it at once.

The photos are everywhere. I scroll—it’s on I*******m too, trending.

I tap on the notifications where I was tagged.

It’s worse than I imagined.

“@Maya_0 must’ve seen it coming. You can’t marry a superstar and not expect competition.”

A reply:

“It’s not even competition. @Maya_0 signed up for this. Everyone knows @Queen-Bee Isla had Ice King first, since high school. But the bitch swooped in and brainwashed Ice King’s granny into that flash marriage. Maya is such a gold digger.”

Another:

“I’m proud of @Queen-Bee Isla for taking back what’s rightfully hers.”

My heart freezes.

What is all this? I whisper.

I scroll, my stomach twisting.

“I heard @Maya_0 has a yeast infection which blocked her fallopian tubes. That’s why she can’t conceive.”

Reply:

“That’s very true. If the bitch had her way, she’d have trapped Ice King with a child.”

What the fucking hell.

I toss my phone, expecting it to land on the bed, but it falls to the ground.

I don’t even care.

“What did I just read?” I mutter.

“What did I just read?” I repeat.

I pick my phone back up; the screen is slightly cracked.

I go to the I* post.

A picture of them on the red carpet—I spot myself.

I zoom into the background. I see myself clearly. The disgust on my face is obvious, and somehow, they made that look pathetic too.

“Nah… nah, I’m not mentally prepared to read the comment section of these awful people.”

Tears slide down my cheeks, splashing onto the screen.

I back up against the door, then slide down to the floor, hugging my knees.

Minutes. Hours. Who knows?

I stand, my whole body trembling.

I waited for my husband the entire night… just for him to be out with my sister, doing way more than what they posted.

The fans at the red carpet were right when they said, “Isla and Ryder would be fucking tonight.”

I should have listened to my instinct.

I look at the lingerie. I pull it, and when it snaps back, it hits my skin hard. The pain—nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

“I shouldn’t have worn this shit,” I mutter.

I walk up to the mirror.

It only makes everything worse.

“Shit… my eyes are so red.”

Why did I let a man turn me into this?

Even my perfect blonde hair is shrinking.

“Oh no… oh no…”

I cover my face in shame.

Why do I love Ryder so much? Why? Why?

Why can’t I hate him the way he hates me? Why can’t I?

Maya, what are you so afraid of?

In the middle of my rage, the doorknob twists.

My heart thunders. I turn around.

Ryder.

He stands there, looking at me. His eyes drop to the floor, to the phone, then back at me.

A storm of words fills my head, but none come out.

“Ryder… uhmm…” I whisper. He doesn’t hear me. He just watches my lips move.

He kicks my phone, sending it crashing against the wall.

My eyes widen. I shake, my whole body trembling.

He walks straight up to me, rage burning in his eyes. My heart bangs against my ribs.

I shut my eyes. “Oh God, please help me. Oh God, please help me,” I whisper.

I force my eyes open again.

He stands right in front of me, gripping my hands—too tight, without mercy.

“You’re still wearing this shit,” he spits, voice raised.

“The only reason I’m holding myself back from hitting you is because I’m not a legal citizen of this country,” he snarls. His words drip with venom.

“That’s the only thing saving you. I don’t want to get arrested. If not, do you think you’d be here? You’d have joined your mother in the grave—bitch.”

The words cut through me like a knife.

My heart stings.

His eyes drag down my body, stopping at my thighs, then up to my face. He shakes his head in disgust.

“God. Don’t you ever get sick of making people want to puke when they’re around you? Don’t you?”

He leans closer, voice low and cruel.

“Don’t you ever get tired of existing?”

Then he drops my arms like they burn him.

“You still left that bed that way? In fact, I don’t want you touching the bed.”

“Please, just go. Just go before I do something that’ll land me in prison,” he sneers.

“Leave. Now.” He points toward the door.

I nod and walk slowly.

Inside me, my thoughts scream: Didn’t he see my red, swollen eyes? He can’t ask why I’ve been crying? He doesn’t even care.

I turn.

He’s facing the mirror, unbuttoning his Oxford shirt.

My legs wobble as I walk toward him.

When I’m close enough, he sees me through the mirror. His gaze locks on me—still furious.

Normally, that look would scare me away. But this time, I gather my courage.

I stand in front of him.

I raise my trembling hands to his cheekbones, placing them gently, forcing eye contact.

“Ry… Ryder,” my voice cracks. “W-why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to deserve the way you treat me? Why?”

Something flickers in his eyes. But it disappears too fast.

He breaks eye contact. Clears his throat.

“Maya… don’t push me.”

“Ryder… I know you love me. What’s stopping you from showing it?”

He lets out a cold, bitter laugh.

In a split second, he pushed me onto the bed.

Before I could even make sense of what was happening, he was already on top of me.

He ripped off his shirt aggressively.

“Slut. You want me to fuck you, right? You’ll have it.”

“No—Ryder, not this way, please.” I struggled beneath him, panic rising.

His hand struck across my face. My skin burned.

“Be quiet.”

He yanked at his belt.

“Ryder, please, don’t do this,” I begged, my voice trembling. “Please… I don’t want our first time to be this way.” My voice broke, splintering. “Pl…ease.”

He leaned closer, his lips pressing against my neck. His breath was heavy, suffocating. I could smell him.

He smells like… cigarettes and alcohol

He was drunk

With one violent tug, he ripped the G-string of my lingerie apart.

In a flash, he spat on my pussy and thrust his dick into me.