Married To My Nemesis

[Cole Sterling spotted picking up his childhood sweetheart, top model Adriana, from the airport a day before his wedding. What does this mean for Hermione Windsor?] The headline flashed across Hermione’s phone as she stared at the screen in disbelief. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled. Beneath it was a photo of her fiancé of five years, flowers in hand, smiling warmly at a stunning brunette holding a ‘Welcome Home’ sign. According to the article, Cole’s grand display had blocked the airport entrance for nearly an hour before they finally left. She and Cole were supposed to walk down the aisle tomorrow. Everything for the wedding was already prepared — her dress, the venue, the vows. Every detail had been finalized. Yet here he was, wrapped in another woman’s arms while the media turned her humiliation into entertainment. She was a joke. A punchline. Hermione shook her head. Her hands moved on autopilot as she dialed Cole’s number. He didn’t answer. She tried several tim

Hermione drove herself to the marriage registry the next morning, her expression blank and unreadable. “Hermione! Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” Her father’s furious voice exploded through the phone. “What is this nonsense I’m hearing? Your fiancé is with another woman? Aren’t you ashamed? You couldn’t even keep a man after years of dating. If you knew he liked models, why didn’t you eat less and maintain your figure? He must have been repulsed.” She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. No matter what she did, she was never enough for this man. It was either she was too tall — men preferred petite women, or she was overweight, despite weighing less than fifty kilograms. To him, she was always lacking. Her efforts didn’t matter. What did the media call her again? Spoiled Windsor heiress. If only they knew. “You remember our deal, right?” Robert continued. “Come home immediately. I’m already arranging a meeting with—“ “No.” The word left her lips, cold and

Hermione sat at the small table in the middle of the garden, the evening air cool against her skin. Rhys’s mansion was something out of a fairytale book. She’d settled there hours ago, letting the quiet wrap around her. Since morning, her phone hadn’t stopped buzzing with messages from people demanding to know what had happened to her wedding with Cole. She’d given them the same answer every time. Called off. The news outlets wasted no time. Headlines spread like wildfire, twisted for maximum drama. [Run away bride? Windsor Heiress cancels wedding over the return of fiancée high school sweetheart.] [From Bride to Bystander: Heiress Abandons Wedding Amid First Love Controversy.] [Dumped Before ‘I Do’: Heiress Flees Wedding as Fiancé Reconnects With Childhood Crush.] Hermione had to give it to them. They were good. It wasn’t even a day yet and the gossip sites were buzzing. The public ran with it, branding her petty and dramatic. Some celebrated, thanking for finally steppi

Rhys watched as Hermione effortlessly wrapped his parents around her finger. She had always possessed that magnetic charm. Maybe it was her beauty, or her poise and eloquence. Whatever it was, people were either drawn to her instantly or despised her out of jealousy. There was rarely an in-between. Still, he hadn’t expected her to win his parents over this quickly, especially his mother. Evelyn was kind, yes, but she was also incredibly hard to impress. She was never this openly affectionate. She looked positively smitten with Hermione. Was it simply because she was his wife? Rhys didn’t know. All he knew was that at this moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. The red dress hugged her perfectly, the color rich against her skin. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away — and failing. He couldn’t afford to fall for her manipulative charm. Not this soon. He was supposed to be in control of this marriage. Not her. As he stood in the sitting room, watching her laugh softly a

He looked up slowly when she emerged, and his gaze dragged down her body leisurely — over the cling of wet fabric, the curve of her hip, the bare legs glistening with moisture. She shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t looking her best. Her hair was dripping, her face bare, and her robe was clinging like a second skin. She drew the silk tighter around herself. His eyes snapped to hers. For a moment, his brows furrowed. She almost cocked a brow. Was he displeased? After all, she wasn’t in any makeup, without the polished mask she wore for the world. She was bare. “Do you need something, Mr. Huxley?” Her voice came out steady. She was still pissed at him and wasn’t in the mood to entertain more insults. He rose slowly from the bed and walked toward her. She backed up instinctively and hit the wall behind her. He stopped inches away, close enough that his scent wrapped around her. It invaded her senses, making her knees threaten to buckle. How was he so infuriating and bloody attractive