Once a Fool, Now a Queen

Once a Fool, Now a Queen

Aurora Sinclair’s POV

⸻

A Celebration Turned to Ruin

The champagne bottle was chilled, the crystal flutes gleamed under the soft golden lights of the suite, and the scent of roses—his favorite, white and delicate—filled the air.

I had spent weeks planning this. Five years of marriage deserved a celebration, especially after everything we had been through.

Damian had been distant lately, stressed, he said. Work was demanding. His company was expanding, and his attention was being pulled in every direction. I understood. I had always understood.

So tonight, I wanted to remind him. Of us. Of what we had built together.

The concierge had handed me the key with a knowing smile, assuming I was another woman surprising her husband in the most romantic way possible. He had no idea how right—and how devastatingly wrong—he was.

The suite door wasn’t locked.

That should have been my first warning.

Soft laughter drifted through the air, followed by a low, intimate murmur. Damian’s voice. And a woman’s.

I stepped inside, heart pounding. The sight before me was nothing short of a nightmare.

Damian, my husband, my partner, was sprawled on the bed—our bed for the night—with a woman draped over him, her body barely covered by the silk sheets. Dark waves of hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, her lips curled in satisfaction.

Vanessa Harrington. A model. Younger, impossibly beautiful, and now—apparently—his.

The champagne bottle slipped from my fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud. Both of them turned.

For a single, suspended second, there was silence. Then Vanessa smirked, completely unbothered by my presence.

Damian? He sighed. As if I was the one interrupting his evening.

I couldn’t breathe. The air had been sucked from the room, replaced with the stench of betrayal.

“Surprise,” I whispered.

Damian stood, completely unashamed. He didn’t scramble for an excuse. He didn’t look guilty. No, he looked bored.

“Aurora.” His voice was sharp, clipped. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, humorless and bitter. “I shouldn’t be here? It’s our anniversary.”

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Exactly. And I was going to tell you—this isn’t working anymore.”

The words sliced through me. “This?” I echoed. “Our marriage? Our life?”

Damian exhaled like I was exhausting him. “Aurora, I’ve changed. I’ve grown. And you…” His eyes flickered over me, dismissive. “You’ve stayed the same.”

The room tilted.

For five years, I had been by his side. I had sacrificed, supported, believed in him when no one else did. And now, just like that, I was disposable.

Vanessa draped herself over his back, her nails trailing down his chest. “You didn’t really think you could keep a man like Damian forever, did you?”

I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. My gaze was locked on the man I had loved—the man I thought I knew.

Damian sighed again. “I’ve already started the divorce proceedings. Everything is arranged.”

Arranged. Like I was just another deal to be signed off and forgotten.

“You’ll be taken care of,” he continued, as if that was supposed to soften the blow. “But this—” He gestured vaguely. “It’s done.”

I didn’t remember leaving the suite. I didn’t remember how my legs carried me down the hall, past the polished floors and expensive décor, past the concierge who no longer smiled.

All I knew was that by the time I stepped out of the hotel, my world had been shattered.

And Damian Carter hadn’t even blinked.

***

Nothing Left to Lose

The rain had started by the time I reached our home—no, his home.

A sprawling mansion, sleek and modern, a testament to everything we had built. I had picked out the tiles, chosen the furniture, made it a place where love could grow.

Except there was no love here. Not anymore.

I climbed the steps, soaked from head to toe, shivering from something far colder than the rain.

The key didn’t fit.

I tried again. And again.

No.

A cold, sinking dread pooled in my stomach.

I rang the doorbell. Nothing.

I knocked. No answer.

Then the door opened—not to welcome me, but to block me.

A man I barely recognized stood there. Security. Hired muscle in a pressed suit.

“Mrs. Carter,” he said flatly. “Mr. Carter instructed that you are not to enter the premises.”

My heart stopped.

Not to enter—

Not allowed—

“I live here.” My voice cracked.

“Not anymore.”

The papers. The divorce. Arranged.

Oh God.

I had nothing. No home. No money—because everything had been under his name. No family to run to—because they had always believed in Damian, in his perfect façade.

Everything was gone.

The door shut.

And I stood there, rain pouring, my body trembling, my breath ragged.

The world had never felt so silent.

I had given Damian everything. And in return, he had left me with nothing.

No, not nothing.

I had rage.

And rage could build empires.

***

To be continued