Married to the Enemy CEO

AVA

“Whose earring is this?”

I held up the single pearl I’d found by the sink, watching Julian’s reflection in the mirror as I waited for an answer.

He walked into the bathroom like he hadn’t heard me, a white towel slung low on his hips. His damp hair was slicked back, water still dripping down his chest. He smelled like cedarwood cologne… and something else. Something floral and sweet.

Not mine.

Familiar, and not in a good way.

His eyes flicked to the earring in my hand. “It’s just an earring, Ava. Don’t turn it into a thing.”

I turned around to face him fully. “It’s not mine.”

He didn’t even blink. “Then maybe it belongs to one of the stylists. Or a maid. Or… I don’t know, maybe it’s been here since the last guest. Are we really doing this right now?”

“Can you stop lying for five seconds?”

That made him pause.

Julian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, voice low and annoyed. “Seriously? You want to start a fight today? On our wedding day?”

“You brought another woman into your suite,” I said quietly. “On the day we’re supposed to get married. You could’ve at least cleaned up after her.”

He smirked like it was a joke. “I didn’t realize we were pretending to be exclusive already.”

My chest tightened. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, I’m realistic.” He stepped closer. “We both know this marriage isn’t about love. You want to save your charity. Your father wants the merger. I want control. Everyone gets what they want.”

He stopped just a breath away. “So don’t act heartbroken. You knew the deal.”

My hands trembled, but I kept my voice steady. “I’m still a person, Julian.”

“Then act like a smart one.”

He picked up my veil from the chair and handed it to me. “Put this on. The car’s waiting.”

I didn’t take it.

Instead, I closed my fingers around the pearl earring and slipped it into my purse.

As I turned to leave, something on the edge of the dresser caught my eye, my ID card.

It was half-tucked under his suit jacket.

I froze, staring at it, remembering how it ended up there.

I had left it behind three days ago, after I let him sleep with me.

The memory made my stomach twist. It hadn’t meant anything. Not to him. And now, looking back, it didn’t mean anything to me either. I hated that I had convinced myself it would fix something. That maybe, for one night, we were something real.

I picked it up, shoved it into my purse, and walked out.

---

In the limo, I sat stiffly between my parents, like a prisoner in a designer gown.

Julian sat opposite, scrolling through his phone like nothing had happened.

My mother kept checking her reflection, reapplying her lipstick without a word. Her silence was worse than her usual fussing.

My father cleared his throat. “I assume there will be no further complications this morning?”

I stayed quiet.

He went on anyway. “This union is the most important deal I’ve ever made. The Morgan and Crest names, forever joined. One day your children will thank you.”

“You mean your company will.”

He gave me a hard look. “Don’t be foolish, Ava. The Hope Foundation is barely hanging on. Are you really going to let those children suffer just to prove a point?”

I turned to the window, watching buildings blur past.

Three weeks ago, I begged him to cancel the wedding. Told him I didn’t love Julian. That I didn’t trust him.

His voice was cold and final: “You either marry Julian and secure the Crest deal… or watch your precious Hope Foundation burn with the rest of your image.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. My mind had already gone somewhere else.

Sophie.

She was seven the first time I met her. Big brown eyes, no hair under her pink bandana, but she smiled like the world still had good in it. I remembered her clinging to my hand during one of the hospital outreach visits, whispering, “Don’t stop helping kids like me, okay?”

I blinked back the tears rising fast and hot, my father’s threat echoing in the sterile air between us. If the Foundation shut down, kids like Sophie wouldn’t get the treatments we funded. The mothers we supported wouldn’t get food. The clinics would close.

And it would be my fault.

So I agreed to marry Julian.

I chose peace over freedom.

But today, peace felt like walking to my own funeral.

---

The music began.

The ballroom doors opened.

And I walked.

I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, but I didn’t look at anyone. Not my mother, who dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Not the guests who whispered behind cupped hands. Not even Julian, who stood at the altar like he was waiting for a boardroom presentation.

I looked at the chandeliers. The flowers. The farthest corner of the room. Anywhere but at the man who had cheated on me this morning and still expected me to say “I do.”

I reached him. Took his hand.

It was cold.

The officiant began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the ballroom. Julian’s grip on my hand tightened, like he thought that would ground me or pull me back into this illusion.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending to listen to the vows I had already memorized, trying to stay numb.

Then, right as the officiant asked if anyone objected, the large screen behind us flickered.

Once. Then again.

The music stopped. The string quartet fell silent.

A low humming sound filled the room.

I turned slightly toward the screen, the one that was supposed to be showing our engagement photos.

It flashed to black.

Julian’s voice came through the speakers, slick and amused.

The screen showed him in a hotel lounge, laughing with a woman. He looked relaxed, drink in hand, his smile cocky.

“Marrying the ice princess? It’s just strategy,” Julian said with a smirk. “She’s obsessed with me anyway. Ava Morgan loves me like a fool, I’m actually doing her a favor.”

The woman laughed. “You’re terrible.”

Julian shrugged. “It’s just business. Her dad’s company gives me what I need. I’ll stick around for a year, maybe two, then I’ll dump her like the trash she is.”

The video cut off.

Gasps filled the room.

I stood there, frozen. My chest tightened. My hands trembled.

Julian stood beside me, pale and tense. I turned to him just as he opened his mouth.

“Ava, ” he began.

I cut him off, calm and clear. “You really think I loved you?” I let out a short laugh. “You wish.”

Before he could say another word, my hand flew across his face. The slap echoed through the ballroom, sharp and sudden. His head snapped to the side, and for a moment, everything went still.

I leaned in, voice quiet but firm. “That’s for calling me trash.”

People gasped. Some screamed. Phones shot into the air. Voices rose around us in chaos.

I turned and walked away without another word.

Behind me, I heard my father’s voice barking orders.

“Shut it down! Get the feed off those screens! Now!”

But the screen didn’t go dark.

Instead, a new voice came through the speakers. Not Julian’s.

My father’s.

“…cover up the factory deaths? Simple. We laundered the money through Ava’s precious ‘Hope Foundation.’ If any of the victims’ families start making noise, you know what to do, get rid of them. All of them.”

I stopped in my tracks and blinked, frozen.

The words didn’t register at first.

Factory deaths.

Laundered money.

Hope Foundation.

My foundation.

No. That couldn’t be.

That was my charity.

The one I built. The one I poured years into. Visited hospitals for. Held dying children’s hands for. That was the one thing that belonged to me.

I heard someone scream. I think it was my mother.

All around me, voices blurred.

Guests whispering. Recording. Judging. Julian had vanished into the crowd like the coward he was.

The lace on my shoulder clung too tight. The veil itched against my scalp. My throat burned with every breath.

I couldn’t breathe.

I reached up and ripped the veil from my hair. The pins scattered across the marble floor. Someone called my name, but I didn’t look back.

I turned and walked.

No. Ran.

Through the hallway. Past the servers. Into the kitchen, where stunned staff froze at the sight of me.

I didn’t care.

I kept moving. Heels pounding against tile. Diamond earrings falling somewhere behind me. I pushed through a metal service door and burst into the alley behind the hotel.

Cool air slammed into my lungs.

Paparazzi were already there, like vultures who smelled blood.

“Ava, is it true?”

“Did your father launder money through your charity?”

“Where’s Julian? Was your marriage a business deal?”

“What do you have to say to the victims’ families?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t be her, Ava Morgan, the ice princess, the composed heiress who always knew what to say.

That girl was gone.

I yanked off my shoes, sprinted barefoot down the street, ducked behind a dumpster, and pulled out my phone.

It was buzzing.

Hundreds of missed calls. Messages from journalists, fake friends, people who once begged me for donations.

I scrolled through one last headline:

“Morgan Wedding Massacre: Heiress Ava Morgan Exposed in Multi-Billion Dollar Scandal”

And then I did the one thing I never thought I’d do.

I dropped the phone into a trash can.

It landed on top of half-eaten cake.

I turned and walked quickly toward the corner, breath tight in my chest. I wasn’t looking, just trying to get out before I collapsed, then slammed straight into someone.

Hard chest. Firm shoulders. My purse slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said instantly, steadying me with both hands.

Our eyes met for a second. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it.

He crouched down, picked up my purse from the floor, and handed it to me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice calm and low.

I swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “Yeah. I’m just... in a hurry.”

Our fingers brushed as I took the purse, but he didn’t hold on. He let go and gave me space.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be, as I turned to leave.

But then he called after me.

“Wait… you forgot something.”

I paused and turned halfway back, assuming maybe a strap had come loose.

But then he held up a small object between his fingers.

An earring.

It was the same pearl earring I had found in Julian’s penthouse bathroom this morning. The one I had shoved into my purse.

My chest tightened as I stared at it.

He stepped closer, still holding it out with a gentle look on his face. “Here.”

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Discard it,” I said quietly. “Let the trash stay with the trash.”

Then I turned again, faster this time, and pushed through the crowd toward the entrance. A cab idled out front, and without thinking, I rushed over and climbed into the back seat.

“Airport,” I told the driver, slamming the door shut behind me.