His Favorite Enemy (Ruin Me, My Love)

Cassandra's POV

“You’re marrying Trovian Blackwood in less than five hours.”

I almost laughed. Almost. But the dead look in my father’s eyes iced it in my throat. He didn’t blink, didn’t budge, didn’t care.

“You’re not serious.” My voice cracked with hope.

He didn’t answer. Just stared, cold and silent, like he hadn’t just detonated the last bridge I had left standing.

“Emily was supposed to get married today. But since you played the savior, how about you become the sacrifice?” He smirked.

My heart thudded against my ribs, each beat sharp and ragged. “I’m not marrying a man I don’t know!” I snapped. My pulse roared in my ears like a war drum.

“No one asked for your opinion, Cassandra.” He turned back to his computer, dismissing me like a fly that buzzed too loud. Like I was noisy.

I forced a breath through clenched teeth, the metallic taste of fear on my tongue. “What about Mother? You can’t lie about this one. She knows that I don't want to get married. She won’t agree to this.”

“You have three hours to get ready,” he said, not sparing me a glance. “Your makeup team is waiting.”

I stood frozen. My shoes felt nailed to the marble floor, breath trapped like a scream inside a sealed jar.

“If you run,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather, “Emily pays.”

My lungs forgot how to function.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered.

That smile. That goddamned smile. Slow, smug, soulless. It made me want to rip the skin from my bones just to stop feeling everything.

“She ran off with her little boyfriend. Cute, really. But predictable.”

My stomach twisted, bile climbing high.

“If you don’t marry him,” he continued, eyes gleaming like a vulture circling a fresh carcass, “I’d love to see her reaction when we… play.”

That word. That cursed, ice-blooded word. It cracked open the rusted cellar of my childhood and let every monster crawl back in.

“You promised you’d never say that again,” I croaked, the edges of my voice torn and frayed.

He shrugged. “People break promises. That’s what makes them human.”

“No. That’s what makes them monsters,” I whispered, but my strength was unraveling thread by thread.

“You always protected her. Such a good little martyr.”

I broke. I felt it, the clean snap inside me. My shoulders sagged and I felt helpless. He saw it. Fed off it like a starving beast.

“I’ll marry him,” I said, the words tasting like ash and ruin. “But leave Emily out of it.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard.” He slid a contract across the desk with lazy precision. “Sign here.”

"Why do I have to sign?"

"I don't trust you to hold your end of the bargain."

I hesitated. My hand hovered over the paper, trembling.

“Emily’s safety depends on your obedience,” he added, almost bored. Like this was just another deal to him. Another asset signed away.

I signed.

Then I turned to leave, the pen still warm between my fingers.

“I’m sure Mother would divorce you if she knew what a monster you are.”

He didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head and delivered the final twist of the knife.

“Oh, Cassandra, don’t be crazy. She’s the one who suggested the marriage. Drafted the contract too.”

The floor tilted. “You’re lying.”

But his smile only widened, dripping poison and pleasure.

I stormed out, heartbeat thundering in my ears. The hallway swayed like a ship caught in a storm. His laughter followed me, a ghost clinging to my back, whispering all the ways I’d lost.

My hands shook as I pushed open my bedroom door and froze.

My mother stood beside a white ball gown, serene and proud like this was some fairytale and not a damn funeral. Her hands were clasped in front of her like she was praying. Maybe she was. To guilt. To shame. To her own delusions.

“I picked it myself. Paul Delaney designed it. Isn’t it”

“You knew.” My voice was hollow, scraped bare.

Tears spilled down her face, glittering like betrayal. I didn’t buy it. Not anymore.

“I didn’t know at first,” she whispered. “But later... I knew. This marriage is the only way to save you.”

I laughed, the bitter, broken sound that clawed its way out of my chest. “Save me? By selling me?”

“He won’t hurt you.”

“No. Trovian... he’s not like your father. He’s the only one who can protect you.”

“You’re delusional. You think you've saved me but you just made Emily's life a living hell.”

"No, he won't hurt her. He can't hurt Emily." She murmured to herself and I scoffed.

"Why do you think he won't hurt her now that I am not longer in the way?"

"Emily's different. She's his daughter."

"And I'm not?" I laughed.

"I know you don't understand it now but all I'm doing is for your own good."

She reached for my hand. I pulled away like her touch burned.

“I’m not wearing that dress,” I said, stepping back like it might bite me. “Not for him. Not for this.”

“Why not? You always said Paul Delaney”

“That was when I was ten. I thought fairytales were real. Those dresses could make monsters go away. This isn’t a wedding. It’s a transaction. And I’m the item on sale.”

I walked to the door, my bones shaking, my breath tight in my chest.

“I wish I could explain,” she said behind me, voice trembling like glass. “But I can’t.”

“You had the chance to protect us,” I said without turning. “But you didn’t. So I guess I don’t have a mother anymore.”

Silence. Thick. Final.

Then: “Get dressed.”

The door clicked shut behind her like the final note of a requiem.

The tears came the second she was gone. Quiet. Relentless. Hot as acid on my cheeks.

And I let them fall.

I stumbled toward the bathroom, my legs like jelly. The contract, still clutched in my hand, felt heavier than I could bear. The mirror was waiting for me, a cold reflection of what I’d become, or more accurately, what I was about to be.

I stood before it, the cold glass looking back at me with judgment, as if even it could see the cracks running through me. My fingers brushed over the smooth surface, tracing my reflection with hesitation.

The woman staring back was a stranger. She had the same eyes, but they were hollow, like she’d seen too much and had nothing left to fight with. Her face, once vibrant with rebellious fire, was now drawn tight, resigned to a fate that wasn’t hers to choose.

I took a step closer, watching her like she was someone else. She wasn’t me. She couldn’t be.

The makeup team would come soon. They’d paint over the raw edges, hide the hollowness behind foundation and highlighter, pretending this day was nothing more than a celebration. But I knew better. The dress, the makeup, the veil they couldn’t hide the truth. I wasn’t a bride. I was a prisoner.

My gaze lingered on the woman in the mirror. She was supposed to be ready. Beautiful. Calm. But the flicker of fear in her eyes was unmistakable. How did I even look at her anymore? Was I still the girl who used to dream of freedom?

I reached up and touched my neck, feeling the pulse beating beneath the skin, wild and frantic. My reflection mirrored me…her hands trembling as she traced the same line. She was me, but I wasn’t her. Not anymore.

I closed my eyes, wishing for a moment of peace, some illusion of choice. I could run. I could scream. But I’d seen the price of defiance. Emily would pay. She always paid.

I opened my eyes again, meeting the stranger’s gaze. She was waiting for some permission, maybe, to breathe.

I pulled the dress from the hanger with hands that shook harder than I cared to admit. The fabric slid over my fingertips, smooth and cold, like a shroud. This was supposed to be the moment I was swept away into some grand fantasy. But the only thing I could feel was the weight of chains I couldn't see, of promises I couldn't escape.

I turned my back to the mirror, pulling the dress over my head, the fabric brushing against my skin like the touch of someone I hated. The woman in the glass was still there, a fractured version of me in the distance. I didn't want to face her again. I didn't want to face what she had become.

But I had no choice.

I could already hear the footsteps in the hall. The team will be here soon. My fate was already sealed, and no amount of staring at my reflection would change it.

As I zipped the dress up, the gown tight against my ribs, I took one last look at the mirror, at the stranger who wore my face. The tear that slipped down my cheek felt like an old wound finally reopening.

"I’m sorry," I whispered to her. And to myself.

And then, without another word, I turned away, leaving the woman in the mirror to stare back at the girl who had no choice but to vanish.