From Trophy Wife to Tyrant

From Trophy Wife to Tyrant

Gavin

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The crystal award for 'Architect of the Year' felt heavy in my hand, a symbol of everything I' d built. Beside me, my husband, Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation, flashed his perfect, devoted smile for the cameras. We were New York' s power couple, Olivia Vance, the sharp architect, and her seemingly perfect marriage. But the applause was a dull roar; I just wanted to go home. A recent project had left me with a shattered arm, a fresh, angry scar hidden under my gown. Ethan called it a small price for victory. Back in our penthouse, the celebratory champagne sat untouched. Ethan was on his phone, his voice a low, charming murmur. Then my phone buzzed with an unknown number. "This little flower is ready to bloom for you tonight." My breath hitched. Before I could react, another message arrived: a selfie of a young woman, maybe twenty. She was in my bed, the custom headboard, silk sheets, and specific grey walls unmistakable. "On your wedding bed, how scandalous!" the caption read. A cold wave washed over me, a chilling realization that shattered my arm felt with sudden, sharp pain. All my success, all my sacrifices for him, felt like a cruel, elaborate lie. He was letting a child play in our bed. Disgust curdled in my stomach as I looked at the man I had loved. Something inside me broke more completely than any bone. The love died. Only a cold, clear decision remained: I would bring his entire empire crashing down. I would take back my name, my life, and my freedom.

Introduction

The crystal award for 'Architect of the Year' felt heavy in my hand, a symbol of everything I' d built.

Beside me, my husband, Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation, flashed his perfect, devoted smile for the cameras.

We were New York' s power couple, Olivia Vance, the sharp architect, and her seemingly perfect marriage.

But the applause was a dull roar; I just wanted to go home.

A recent project had left me with a shattered arm, a fresh, angry scar hidden under my gown.

Ethan called it a small price for victory.

Back in our penthouse, the celebratory champagne sat untouched.

Ethan was on his phone, his voice a low, charming murmur.

Then my phone buzzed with an unknown number.

"This little flower is ready to bloom for you tonight."

My breath hitched.

Before I could react, another message arrived: a selfie of a young woman, maybe twenty.

She was in my bed, the custom headboard, silk sheets, and specific grey walls unmistakable.

"On your wedding bed, how scandalous!" the caption read.

A cold wave washed over me, a chilling realization that shattered my arm felt with sudden, sharp pain.

All my success, all my sacrifices for him, felt like a cruel, elaborate lie.

He was letting a child play in our bed.

Disgust curdled in my stomach as I looked at the man I had loved.

Something inside me broke more completely than any bone.

The love died.

Only a cold, clear decision remained: I would bring his entire empire crashing down.

I would take back my name, my life, and my freedom.

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Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

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