The Billionaire Broken Bride—Married To My Enemy.

ALESSA'S POV

7 Years Ago

Biology class blurred in front of me. Mrs. Grant's voice droned on about cell membranes and osmosis, but my mind was nowhere near mitochondria or textbooks. It was on him, Michael Astor.

Two grades ahead. Two years older. And still, every bit the sun my world revolved around.

Michael wasn’t just a school crush, he was everyone’s dream. Tall, charming, kind with a voice that could talk a teacher out of homework and a smile that looked like it belonged on magazine covers. And me? Just the awkward, glasses-wearing girl in the third row who had loved him in silence since sixth grade.

That crush had clung to me like second skin for four years and it was ending anytime soon, I knew that.

I still remembered the day he noticed me, really noticed me. It was years ago, when Vanessa and her clique cornered me behind the cafeteria. My books had been kicked down, my glasses knocked sideways. And right when the sting of humiliation had started to burn my throat, he stepped in.

He told them off. Pulled me up.

Michael Astor saw me. He has never really been comfortable with watching me get bullied.

And that tiny flicker of kindness? It had been enough to set my heart on fire.

Vanessa hadn’t stopped since. She was relentless, always dragging me into corners, always sneering at my nerdy appearance. 

She always treated me like trash, like who the heck was she. Does she even know my father, Richard Harter the famous business guru.

But I never told my parents, not after switching schools so many times in my elementary school. I had made a silent promise to myself: I would endure. I was an Harter, and the Harter's never backs down.

It was back in eighth grade, the last time Vanessa ever dared to bully me.

It started in the locker room, just before P.E. The smell hit me first, thick, sour, like rotten milk and sewage mixed together. My stomach churned instantly. I turned, heart stuttering in my chest.

Vanessa and her crew stood behind me, all wearing nose masks like they were in a lab. Everything was so unclear to me at that moment.

Then I saw the bowl.

Pale yellow liquid, sloshing with every step they took toward me. My lungs burned just inhaling the stench.

Butyric acid.

God, no.

I tried to slip past them, hand over my nose, but one of the girls grabbed me. My balance slipped, their laughter echoed, and then Vanessa was in front of me. I was used to her pouring different liquids on me but this smelt the worse 

“Let’s give her a little perfume makeover,” she said, her eyes glinting.

I closed my eyes.

Then I heard it.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Michael's voice, louder than I’d ever heard it, snapped through the hallway.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing there, he was standing over me ontall and furious, gripping Vanessa’s wrist mid-air before the liquid could touch me.

“Butyric acid?!” he repeated, staring into the bowl, his face twisting in disbelief. “Are you sick? What if this had touched her skin?!”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, smug. “Relax, it's just the stinker. It’s not like it kills anyone.”

Michael’s face darkened. He collected the bowl from Vanessa before pushing her aside.

“I swear, Vanessa. If you ever touch her again, not even your daddy's lawyers or influence will save you.”

The locker room fell dead silent. The rest of her crew backed away. Vanessa, for once, didn’t speak.

Michael didn’t wait. “Get out.”

She hesitated.

“I said, get out!”

And she left. Just like that. For the first time, she backed down. She liked him too and it was obvious but it dawned on her that she had no chance with him.

I stayed frozen on the floor. Shaking.

Michael turned to me, his eyes softening. “Hey, you okay?”

He held out his hand. I reached up immediately, his fingers were warm.

“Thank you,” I whispered, too stunned to say anything else.

He smiled gently. “Don’t thank me for doing what’s right.”

He walked me back to class that day. The hallway felt surreal. Every step beside him felt like I was living a different life. And that moment, the feel of his hand around mine, the protective edge in his voice, sank too deep.

That night, I remember I couldn't sleep.

Two years passed. I held onto that memory like it was oxygen.

And finally, I made a decision.

I would tell him.

No more hiding. No more wondering. I was done waiting.

Lunch hour arrived. I skipped the cafeteria line and made a beeline for his table. Michael sat laughing with his friends, carefree and glowing under the fluorescents. Every heartbeat echoed in my chest. My palms were damp. My throat, dry.

I cleared my throat.

“Hi, Michael.”

He looked up and smiled. God, that smile.

“Hey.”

His hazel eyes met mine. Calm. Patient. Kind.

I swallowed. “Can I talk to you? Privately?” my voice was a bit shaky and it was obvious.

He gestured casually. “No secrets here. Don't worry, you can say whatever you need to.”

His friends went quiet, curious to hear what I had to say. I glanced at them, then back at him.

“I just… I never really said thank you. For what you did. For stopping Vanessa… that day two years ago even before then you had always defended me. Even though you didn’t have to.” I was too shy to state my real reason for walking up to him.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Wait. You’re the girl from eighth grade?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That was me. And yeah Vanessa hasn't bullied me since then, thank you.”

He smiled. “You’ve said more than enough thank-yous by now. You're always welcome.”

He turned back to his tray.

I hesitated. Do it, Alessa.

“And,” I breathed, heart hammering, “I like you. A lot.”

He froze. His fork paused mid-air.

I waited.

The room went so quiet I could hear the buzz of the vending machine behind me.