LOGINOn the day of her wedding, Elena Hart was humiliated before the world, rejected at the altar by the man she was to get married to. One moment she was a bride, the next, a scandal. But fate had a crueler twist waiting. To save her family from ruin, Elena is forced into an arranged marriage with Alexander King, the ruthless billionaire known for his icy heart and dangerous empire. He doesn’t believe in love. She doesn’t believe in second chances. Their marriage is nothing but a contract, signed in bitterness and silence. Yet every clash between them sparks fire. Every stolen glance chips away at his armor. And every secret she uncovers pulls her deeper into a world of power, betrayal, and a man who might destroy her, or become the one person who saves her.
View MoreThe church smelled of roses, candle wax, and anticipation. Every seat was filled, every face turned toward me, waiting for the perfect moment when I would finally say "I do."
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
My hands clutched the bouquet so tightly that my knuckles turned white beneath my gloves. The veil was too heavy, clinging to my skin, suffocating me. Still, I smiled through the nervous tremor in my chest. He stood at the altar, tall and handsome in his tuxedo, the man I believed I was destined for.
My forever.
Or so I thought.
“I can’t do this.”
At first, I wasn’t sure if I had misheard him. The church was silent, so silent that the echo of his voice sounded unreal. The officiant froze mid-sentence. A few guests shifted in their seats. My lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then he said it again, clearer and louder.
“I can’t marry her.”
Gasps rippled like a storm through the crowd. My heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach.
“What?” I whispered, but my voice was too faint. I tried again, louder, my throat raw. “What did you just say?”
He turned, not to me, but to the congregation. His eyes were hard, his mouth twisted in disdain. “I said, I won’t marry her.”
A murmur spread across the church, whispers sharp as knives.
Did he just say—?
Poor girl, how embarrassing…
I knew she wasn’t good enough for him.
The bouquet slipped from my trembling hands, the roses scattering in a tragic bloom across the white marble floor. The petals were crushed instantly by the restless shuffle of feet.
“Why?” The word tore from me, broken, trembling.
For a moment, he hesitated. A cruel kind of hesitation, as if deciding whether I deserved the truth. Then his gaze met mine, cold and merciless.
“Because you’re not enough. You never were. This was a mistake.”
The world tilted. My ears rang with the weight of his words. I could feel hundreds of eyes piercing me, stripping away every shred of dignity I had left.
My mother gasped, clutching at her pearls as though they could save her from the shame. My father’s fists clenched on the pew, fury and humiliation burning in his glare. A woman in the front row covered her mouth, delighted in my disgrace.
My knees wobbled, but I forced myself to stand, to breathe, though every part of me wanted to disappear.
In that moment, I was no longer a bride. I was entertainment. A living tragedy for them to feed on.
He didn’t even flinch as he turned and walked down the aisle, away from me, away from everything we had planned. His footsteps echoed, cold and final, until the heavy church doors slammed shut behind him.
The silence he left behind was worse than the whispers.
I stood there, frozen, my veil damp with tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. My heart felt like shattered glass inside my chest. All the dreams, the promises, the love I thought we had, reduced to dust in a single breath.
Someone laughed. I’ll never forget that sound. A cruel, muffled laugh from the back, quickly silenced, but it seared me more than anything else.
Heat climbed my throat, shame burning my skin. I wanted to scream, to beg for the floor to open and swallow me whole. But all I could do was stand there, broken, humiliated, as the whispers grew louder.
“Did you hear what he said?”
“Not enough…”
“How pitiful.”
The officiant shifted uncomfortably, looking at me with pity in his eyes. My bridesmaids wouldn’t even meet my gaze. The groomsmen were whispering to each other, already planning how to escape the scene.
This was supposed to be the day my life began. Instead, it was the day it ended.
And yet—somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the heartbreak and humiliation—something flickered. Not hope, not yet. Something darker. Something that whispered this rejection would not destroy me.
It would change me.
But I didn’t know then that this humiliation was only the beginning. That the man who would soon step into my life would not offer me comfort or love, but chains disguised as vows.
And compared to him, the man who rejected me today would seem almost kind.
The sound of siren tore through the mansion just after dusk. I was halfway down the corridor when Mrs. Alder rushed past me, her face pale, one trembling hand clutching her chest.“Mrs. King,” she whispered. “It’s Isabella.”My heart dropped.“What happened?” I asked, already moving.She hesitated, eyes darting toward the main hall where voices had begun to rise — security, staff, panic.“There’s been… an incident.” She said finally.The word incident barely registered before I was running.The foyer was chaos, guards speaking urgently into radios, a doctor kneeling on the marble floor, Alexander standing rigid nearby like a man carved from stone and rage.And Isabella…She was sitting on the settee, wrapped in a blanket, her hair disheveled, her face bruised. Not broken — not ruined — but unmistakably hurt.I froze.For all the venom she had poured into my life, for all the ways she had tried to diminish me, the sight of her like that made my stomach twist violently.Alexander’s head
I returned to the mansion just after dusk.The sky was a deep bruised blue, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it should. I thought I’d have a few quiet minutes to myself, time to breathe, to let Audrey’s words settle, to remind myself that I still existed outside contracts and expectations.I was wrong.Alexander was waiting in the living room.He was standing when I stepped inside the living room..His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, phone in his hand like he’d set it down and picked it up a dozen times already. He looked composed, but I knew better by now. That stillness meant control, the kind he used when something had irritated him deeply.His eyes lifted the moment I stepped inside.“Where were you?”I stopped just past the doorway, my bag still on my shoulder.“I went out,” I said evenly.“I noticed,” he replied. “You left without informing anyone. Without informing me.”The emphasis wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.It carried weight.I took a breath, refusi
Audrey called on a quiet afternoon, her name lighting up my phone like a reminder of a life that once felt simple.“Dinner,” she said without preamble. “No excuses. Somewhere public, somewhere with good wine, and somewhere far away from brooding billionaires.”I smiled despite myself.“Deal.”We met at a small restaurant tucked between boutiques and bookstores — warm lighting, linen tablecloths, the kind of place that smelled like garlic and normalcy. The kind of place where no one expected anything from me except to order dessert.Audrey was already there when I arrived, waving enthusiastically like we were still twenty and late for class.She stood and hugged me hard.“I missed you,” she said into my hair.“I missed you too,” I admitted.Once we were seated, menus forgotten, Audrey leaned back with a satisfied sigh.“Okay,” she said. “You survived the gala. You survived being married to one of the most powerful men in the country. Now it’s my turn to talk.”She took a sip of wine, e
It's been two days after the gala, the mansion felt like a living thing with a pulse I could hear but not locate. Every hallway hummed with an awareness I couldn’t shake, a kind of watchful silence that pressed against my skin.Maybe it was the aftershock of the night, of Alexander’s eyes on me, of Audrey’s pointed questions, of Isabella’s simmering glare whenever she thought I wasn’t looking.Or maybe it was simply the feeling that something had shifted, delicately but unmistakably, between Alexander and me.I’d been replaying moments in my mind:his hand steady at my waist,the way he pulled me closer when another man approached,the softness — softness, of all things — in his voice when he asked if I was tired.Two days later, the memory still left my chest tight.But that wasn’t the only thing weighing on me.Because Isabella had grown quieter.And in this house, Isabella’s silence was far more dangerous than her insults.I found myself sitting on the veranda with a book I wasn’t












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