Roses and Revenge

Two weeks from now was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. My wedding day.

I stood before the mirror, a stupid smile tugging at my lips. I could already see it—me walking down the aisle, Adrian waiting at the altar with that soft smile of his, my family watching proudly.

For once, I believed in forever.

But forever lasted until I heard the laugh.

It was faint, muffled through the half-closed guest-room door down the hall. A laugh I knew far too well. My sister’s. Marielle.

I frowned, clutching my dress tighter, willing my heart not to leap into suspicion. But then Adrian’s voice joined hers—low, breathless, achingly familiar.

My stomach sank.

For a heartbeat I told myself I was imagining things. Maybe they were just talking. Maybe I was being the insecure fiancée everyone whispered I sometimes was. Yet the air shifted—thick, heavy, wrong.

Step by step, I moved toward the door, every nerve screaming at me to stop, to turn back, to protect the fragile dream I still held. But my hand pushed it open anyway.

And there it was.

Adrian. My fiancé. The man I had promised my whole life to.

Pinned beneath my sister. Her hair tangled in his fists. Her lips smeared across his skin. His voice moaning her name—her name, not mine.

The world stopped spinning.

I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to stare, to brand the betrayal into my memory. My chest cracked open, bleeding invisible wounds no one would ever see.

My mind screamed that this couldn’t be real, but the scent of her perfume and the sound of his gasping breath told me otherwise. The room tilted, and yet I stayed rooted—watching my own happiness collapse.

“C-Celine—” Adrian stammered, shoving Marielle off as though it made a difference.

“How long?” My voice was a whisper, fragile and sharp all at once.

“Wait, let me explain,” he begged, his hand reaching toward me.

Marielle smirked faintly, her dress slipping from her shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t marry a man you can’t keep, sister.”

The words sliced deeper than any blade.

I laughed—a broken, bitter sound. “Explain? No. You already have.” My trembling fingers tugged off the engagement ring. The diamond that once blinded me now mocked me

I threw it at his chest. It clattered to the floor, cold and final.

“Congratulations,” I whispered. “You deserve each other.”

Then I turned and ran.

The night swallowed me. I didn’t know how far I walked, how long I cried, how many times strangers glanced at me with pity as I stumbled down the street in my ruined makeup. My shoes pinched, my throat burned, but I didn’t care.

The cold bit through my thin dress, but the ache inside was colder. Every echo of laughter on the street reminded me of theirs. Every passing car felt like the world moving on while I stood still, shattered and unseen.

By the time neon lights blinked around me, I was half-numb. The bar door swung open with the weight of my shoulder, the sour-sweet scent of liquor wrapping me like a stranger’s embrace.

“One whiskey,” I croaked, dropping onto a stool. Then another. And another.

The burn in my throat was better than the one in my chest.

“Rough night?”

The voice slid through me, deep and smooth. I turned, vision hazy, to find him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark eyes that seemed to strip me bare in a single glance. He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, like nothing in this world could touch him.

“Don’t ask,” I muttered, slamming the empty glass down.

His mouth curved in a knowing half-smile. “Betrayal leaves a scent. I can almost taste it on you.”

My laugh broke on a sob, ignoring his words.

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, only signaled the bartender for water. When I reached for another glass of whiskey, his hand caught mine. Warm. Steady. Commanding.

“Enough,” he said softly.

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve cared. Instead, I stared at him, at the dangerous calm in his gaze, and whispered the only truth I had left. “I don’t want to feel tonight.”

His eyes darkened, something primal flickering there. For a moment, he looked as though he understood every piece of my brokenness.

And when I leaned forward and kissed him, desperate and clumsy, he didn’t hesitate. He kissed me back, hard and consuming, as if he could devour the pain right out of me.

For a heartbeat, I let myself vanish in that kiss—pretend I was someone else, somewhere else, untouched by betrayal.

The next thing I knew, the world blurred—his arm around me, the press of a door closing, sheets tangled beneath my trembling hands.

Morning hit like a cruel joke.

I woke tangled in unfamiliar sheets, my head pounding, my lips swollen. The stranger from the bar lay beside me, half-covered, the shadows of his muscles stark against the pale dawn light. Even asleep, he radiated danger, power… something I couldn’t name.

The scent of him clung to the sheets—expensive cologne and sin.

Panic shot through me.

What had I done?

Silently, I gathered my things, my heart hammering with every rustle of fabric. I didn’t dare look back as I slipped out the door

Maybe I had escaped. Maybe he would forget me as quickly as I planned to forget him.

Little did I know fate had its own way of branding souls—and this stranger would be the beginning of my nemesis and my most dangerous desire.