The affair on my wedding day.

SCARLETT

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice shaking as I stared at Vincent. My throat felt dry, and my mind scrambled to understand what he had just said. “Don’t tell me you’re serious.”

Vincent leaned back on the couch, a smug smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement, like he was enjoying every second of my confusion.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance.

I shook my head, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I had known Zayden since I was little. I’d seen him grow into the cold, distant man he was today, but never had I once imagined that he had a son. Zayden had never been in a relationship, never brought home any woman, never shown the slightest interest in romance. Maybe that was part of what had drawn me to him all these years.

“What do you mean Zayden is your father?” I repeated, my voice sharper this time.

Before Vincent could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned just as Zayden stepped into the room. His face was unreadable, his jaw tight, but there was something in his eyes—something that made my stomach twist.

“He’s right,” Zayden said quietly. “Vincent is my son. I just found out recently.”

My world tilted. I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.

“What?” I whispered, barely able to process what he’d just said. “And you want me to marry him after—”

Before I could finish my sentence, Zayden crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward the stairs.

“Come with me,” he said through gritted teeth, dragging me behind him.

“Wait—Zayden!” I protested, but he didn’t stop. He pulled me up the stairs, down the hall, and into his room, slamming the door shut behind us.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, yanking my arm out of his grip. “You can’t just drag me around like that!”

“What were you going to do?” he snapped, his eyes blazing with anger. “Were you planning to tell him? Were you going to spill that we slept together?”

I blinked, stunned by his outburst.

“What the heck are you thinking, Scarlett?” he continued, pacing the room like a caged lion. “Don’t you get it? I’m way older than you. I’m old enough to be your father. We can’t have anything to do with each other.”

My chest tightened at his words.

“You want to know why I want you to marry Vincent?” he asked, his voice cold. “Because he’s your mate. He’s young, fresh, and exactly what you need. If you care about your father’s legacy—if you want to clear his name—you’ll marry him.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “What are you saying?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying this is the only way,” he said, his eyes hard. “If you want to save your family, you’ll have to marry my son.”

“But I don’t want him,” I said, my voice trembling. “I want you.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw and painful. But then it was gone, replaced by the same cold mask he always wore.

“Well, you can’t have me,” he said flatly. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care about anyone.”

His words cut me like a knife, but I refused to let him see how much they hurt.

“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly. “If you don’t care about me, then I’ll marry Vincent. I’ll marry him and I won’t care about you either.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Is that all?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“No,” I said, taking a step closer. “I have a condition. If I marry Vincent, we’re staying here. In this house.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded.

“Deal,” he said quietly.

“Deal,” I repeated, my heart racing.

Without another word, I turned and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

When I got back to the living room, Vincent was still sitting on the couch, looking smug as ever.

“I’ll do it,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll marry you.”

His eyes lit up, and he jumped to his feet, pulling me into a tight hug.

“You won’t regret this, Scarlett,” he said, his voice warm and excited.

I didn’t hug him back. I couldn’t. My heart felt like it was breaking, but I pushed the pain aside. This was what I had to do.

The wedding came quickly—too quickly. Before I knew it, I was standing at the altar, dressed in white, saying “I do” to a man I didn’t love.

As I slipped the ring onto Vincent’s finger, my eyes drifted to the back of the room—and there he was. Zayden. Sitting alone, watching me with an intensity that made my heart ache.

His eyes were dark, burning with an emotion I couldn’t name. Was it anger? Jealousy? Regret? I didn’t know.

“You may kiss your bride,” the pastor said.

Before Vincent could make a move, I leaned in and kissed him—long, deep, and passionate.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zayden’s jaw tighten, his fists clench at his sides. Then, without a word, he stood up and walked out, his shoulders stiff, his whole body radiating fury.

I pulled back from the kiss, my heart pounding wildly.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declared with a warm smile. But while everyone else seemed happy, I wasn’t. My emotions were a tangled mess—part sadness, part joy, and a whole lot of confusion.

The reception had begun, music filling the air, and people were laughing, dancing, and toasting to our future. But my eyes kept wandering, searching for him.

Where is Zayden? I wondered, my heart racing as I scanned the crowded room.

Then I saw him—standing alone down the hallway, disappearing into one of the side rooms. Without thinking, I followed. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I made my way toward the room. I pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside.

Before I could say a word, Zayden turned sharply, slammed the door shut behind me, and pressed me up against it. His hand slid around my neck—not to hurt me, but to hold me in place—and then his lips crashed down on mine in a rough, hungry kiss.

My mind went blank.

“What are you doing?” I gasped when he finally pulled back, both of us breathing heavily.

His eyes burned with frustration, pain, and something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

“I can’t do this,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t watch you with him. I want you, Scarlett. I think I’m in—”

The words caught in his throat, unfinished, but the look in his eyes said it all.