The Wild Heir and His Icy Bride

The second time they met, Rhys Lockhart had heard Elara Waverly never touched alcohol and couldn't stand noise. So, he deliberately set their meeting at a bar, danced like a maniac right in front of her, and then pressed a glass of sharp whiskey to her lips.

He expected her to frown and shut him down. Instead, she leaned into his hand and drank the whole thing down, coughing lightly as the burn hit. Her red lips only looked more striking for it.

Then she pulled out a white handkerchief and, without missing a beat, wiped the sweat from his temple. Rhys caught the scent of bluebells on the cloth, a perfect complement to the cool air she always carried about her.

The third time they met was at a dinner gala. Rhys's rival sneered from his seat. "Rhys Lockhart is notorious for sleeping around. He never turns anyone down. It wouldn't surprise me if he's caught something by now.

"Elara Waverly marrying him is the worst luck of her life."

Before Rhys could react, Elara's voice cut through from the head of the table, cool and even. "What's your name?"

The man eagerly introduced himself, and Elara gave a single nod. "From now on, you're not welcome at any event hosted by Waverly Corp."

She rose to her feet, poised and commanding. Her voice wasn't loud, but it left no room for argument. "I'd like everyone here to remember that Rhys is the man I chose, and he is my husband. To me, he is the best there is."

At that moment, every other sound in the room fell away. All Rhys could hear was the pounding of his own heart. He accepted the marriage, and before he knew it, he'd fallen in completely.

Even so, Elara remained composed and distant with him at all times. Even in bed, she was methodical, almost perfunctory, with not a trace of heat or desire in her eyes.

When she found out she was pregnant, she barely paused before saying, "I see."

Her tone was as calm as if she'd just closed a minor business deal, with none of the joy a first-time mother might show.

Rhys told himself it was still a mutual partnership. Elara simply wasn't the type to show her feelings.

That changed three months into her pregnancy. In a private room, he watched her bodyguards restrain a heavyset woman while Elara slapped her across the face, again and again, fury burning at the corners of her eyes. She was nothing like the composed, unflappable woman he knew.

He didn't understand what was happening. He grabbed her arm. "She's passing out! You're going to kill her!"

Elara turned her gaze on him, vicious and ice-cold. "What makes you think you have the right to stop me? Let go."

Rhys's breath caught. A chill ran through his entire body, and he released her without thinking.

The next second, a tall, lean figure rushed in and threw his arms around Elara, trembling as he choked out the words. "Elara, stop. Please stop."

Elara whipped around, and it was the first time Rhys had ever seen so many emotions cross that composed face at once. Shock gave way to guilt, and beneath all of it, a longing and love so overwhelming it nearly spilled over.

Then her gaze dropped to the red marks around the man's neck, and her expression darkened instantly. Without a word, she seized his hand and strode toward the door, not sparing a single thought for her actual husband standing alone just a few feet away.

Rhys's hands and feet went cold. He stiffly raised his head and met the gazes of Elara's friends, pitying but completely unsurprised.

"Even after five years, she still can't let him go."

Someone who didn't know the backstory leaned in, curious. "What's going on? Is that man Elara's first love?"

"More than that. He's the one she's never been able to forget." One of her childhood friends shook her head.

"Their parents tore them apart, and the pressure was too much for him. He ended it himself. But Elara never blamed him. She even agreed to this marriage for his sake."

"How could Elara ever fall for someone like Rhys? The marriage was just a prop, a way to pretend she'd moved on and was doing fine so he wouldn't worry or feel guilty. In Elara's heart, as long as he's happy, she'd sacrifice anything, even her own marriage.

"The sad part is, he hasn't been happy either. His wife was cheating on him behind his back, and when Elara found out, she lost it. I haven't seen her that angry in a long time."

Rhys's mind went blank. His fingertips pressed hard against the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him upright.

So, their marriage was nothing more than a tool—a prop in Elara's performance—a lie he'd been kept in the dark about the entire time.

No wonder she'd gone out of her way to defend him in public, again and again, despite being so cold and indifferent behind closed doors. What he'd taken for favoritism was nothing more than an act, staged for her first love to see.

No wonder she'd invited over a hundred media outlets to cover their wedding, despite being so naturally reserved. What he'd mistaken for devotion was calculated from the start, every last detail orchestrated and fake.

As the dull, relentless ache swept through his body, Rhys heard someone ask, "What's his name?"

"Asher Keene."

Rhys's heart stopped. He stared in disbelief as the person repeated it. "Elara's first love's name is Asher Keene."

It was just a name, but it tore right through him. He turned and strode toward the door. The second he stepped through, his eyes blurred with tears.

Rhys had felt for Elara having to carry their child, so the first thing he'd done was agree to give the baby her surname. And the name Elara chose, right away, was Ash Waverly.

He'd murmured it over and over at the time, grinning like an idiot. "Ash? Ash… That's a beautiful name."

He couldn't contain his excitement. "You picked it so fast. Were you just as eager as me, waiting for this little one to come?"

He'd taken her guilty silence as a yes, and let it fill him with sweetness.

He hadn't known that the baby's name came from Asher Keene. In a room full of their closest family and friends, Elara had poured her longing for another man into the name of their child for everyone to hear. Everyone had known, except Rhys, the only fool in the room.

In a dim corner, Rhys dialed a number, his fingertips white against the phone.

"Mr. Doyle, I need you to draft a divorce agreement." His voice was shaking, raw and hoarse, but every word came out sharp and deliberate.

"I want a divorce from Elara Waverly."

He was Rhys Lockhart, eldest son of the Lockhart family, and he answered to no one.

He wouldn't deny that he'd loved Elara deeply. But a marriage built on deception, no matter how much ending it would gut him, was one he refused to stay in.