I Got Married For Revenge

•~•Solane's POV

I never thought I'd be standing at the altar, exchanging vows with the man who had his mother kill me.

Yet here I was, clutching a bouquet of roses I had handpicked, wearing the most beautiful dress ever, ready to marry him under a new name and face. All for revenge.

"Do you, Solane Blackwood, take Nathaniel Grant to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

Once upon a time, the girl I used to be-Irene Lancaster, would've said yes without a second thought because she believed in the disaster called love.

But reality has a way of shattering even the prettiest illusions. Now I know, love is just a fairytale we try to force into reality-A poison disguised as nectar, sweet until it makes you sick.

My gaze flickered to Nathaniel, seated in his wheelchair, hands resting neatly in his lap, his expression unreadable as he looked up at me.

Once, I would have melted under that gaze. He was my world, my everything. I had even convinced myself he was one of those rare, perfect men-like the ones written about in romance novels.

Five years have passed, but it still feels like yesterday when my dream love came crashing down. And I still ask myself the same question-Was I foolish to believe in him, or was I just too blind to see the truth?

In the end, I realized I was both. I wasn't special. I wasn't different, like he said I was. I was just another girl he used, then tossed aside.

"Do you, Solane Blackwood, take Nathaniel Grant to be your lawfully wedded husband?..."

My heart pounded so hard it blocked out the rest of the priest's words as he asked again.

My lips parted to answer, and for a moment, I wondered if I could go through with it. But then I remembered the cliff, the fall, the betrayal....

---

Five Years Ago

---

"You must be the thing carrying my grandchild."

She was older-maybe in her late fifties-and dressed in a black coat that flared dramatically against the wind.

She stood right in front of me on the cliff, flanked by two men in matching dark suits, staring at me as if I were something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"You're Nathaniel's mother, aren't you?" I asked, my voice far steadier than I felt.

She studied me for a moment, her gaze cold and calculating, before a slow smirk curled at the corners of her lips.

"Yes, Melissa Grant," she replied, her voice clipped, the smirk never faltering. "And meeting you... well, it's far from a pleasure, Irene Lancaster."

My stomach twisted as she spat my name, wrapped in disdain like it was some kind of curse.

"Where's Nathaniel?" I asked, trying to sound unaffected. "He told me to come here. He said-"

"He won't be coming," she interrupted smoothly, her tone as cold as the wind itself.

A cold knot settled in my chest, and nausea rolled in waves. "Why? Why wouldn't he come?"

Her smirk twisted into a mocking smile as she opened her mouth to answer, but then the shrill ring of a phone cut her off. Reaching into her coat, she pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she muttered, before answering in a casual tone. "Hello son."

The voice that crackled through was unmistakably Nathaniel's. "Have you seen her yet?"

His words made it sound like I was some problem that needed to be handled, and it made my stomach churn.

Melissa's eyes gleamed with malice as she replied, "Yes, she's right in front of me. Don't worry, darling. I'll handle everything... as always."

The call ended, and she slid the phone back into her coat like it was no more than a minor inconvenience.

The words-'I'll handle everything, as always' hung in the air, a weight pressing down on my chest.

I wanted to demand answers, to ask what she meant by that, but before I could form the words, she suddenly stepped closer, her presence too overpowering to ignore.

"Let's not waste each other's time, shall we?" she said, her voice much colder and carrying a hint of something I couldn't quite place.