A Bride's Shattered Illusion

A Bride's Shattered Illusion

Gavin

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The package arrived on the eve of my wedding, a small, elegant box from a high-end photo studio, but instead of a gift from my fiancé, Brandon, I found a single photograph. It showed Brandon, arm tightly wrapped around his assistant, Chloe Miller, both in wedding attire, smiling wide and genuine. A text from an unknown number confirmed my worst fear: "Miss Reed, Chloe was so excited about her wedding dress fitting with Mr. Scott. They make a lovely couple, don't they?" When Brandon finally arrived home, Chloe by his side, she stammered a flimsy excuse about a "friend's wedding," but my eyes were fixed on him. My fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow, waved a dismissive hand. "Don't make a scene over nothing. You know how important tomorrow is for the family's image." He saw my silence as weakness, his confidence unwavering in his control over me. As he reassured Chloe, I calmly retrieved my packed suitcases, ready to leave. My life with Brandon, built on years of protection and a secret courthouse marriage, flashed before my eyes. Ten years ago, I was his protector at the orphanage; five years ago, I sacrificed my dreams for his promise of a future. Now, I was just "simple, easy to manage," a pawn in his family' s business merger. The photo didn' t just break my heart; it shattered the illusion, revealing the cold, hard truth of my position, spurring me to declare, "I want a divorce." Brandon' s face darkened, and he tore the photo, believing he could erase the betrayal. He then tried to intimidate me, reminding me, "The apartment, the car, the money-it' s all from me. You' ll be back on the streets." But his threats, and his desperate pleas, no longer worked. I was finally choosing myself.

Introduction

The package arrived on the eve of my wedding, a small, elegant box from a high-end photo studio, but instead of a gift from my fiancé, Brandon, I found a single photograph.

It showed Brandon, arm tightly wrapped around his assistant, Chloe Miller, both in wedding attire, smiling wide and genuine. A text from an unknown number confirmed my worst fear: "Miss Reed, Chloe was so excited about her wedding dress fitting with Mr. Scott. They make a lovely couple, don't they?"

When Brandon finally arrived home, Chloe by his side, she stammered a flimsy excuse about a "friend's wedding," but my eyes were fixed on him. My fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow, waved a dismissive hand. "Don't make a scene over nothing. You know how important tomorrow is for the family's image." He saw my silence as weakness, his confidence unwavering in his control over me. As he reassured Chloe, I calmly retrieved my packed suitcases, ready to leave.

My life with Brandon, built on years of protection and a secret courthouse marriage, flashed before my eyes. Ten years ago, I was his protector at the orphanage; five years ago, I sacrificed my dreams for his promise of a future. Now, I was just "simple, easy to manage," a pawn in his family' s business merger.

The photo didn' t just break my heart; it shattered the illusion, revealing the cold, hard truth of my position, spurring me to declare, "I want a divorce."

Brandon' s face darkened, and he tore the photo, believing he could erase the betrayal. He then tried to intimidate me, reminding me, "The apartment, the car, the money-it' s all from me. You' ll be back on the streets." But his threats, and his desperate pleas, no longer worked. I was finally choosing myself.

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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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