His Placeholder Bride, My Bitter Revenge

Trevin

ing a single, devastating truth: I was merely a stand-in. A carefully chosen replacement for the woman Grant truly loved, the one he could never fully po

. There were no tears, just a dry, hollow ache. The scream that

ice, slightly subdued, filtered through the speaker. "Avery... Mom's really upset. Please, just come hom

ought of my parents, of their frail hopes, tugged at something deep inside.

of my childhood home. The sound of shouting immediately assaulted me. "How could you be so useless? So

ial strain and her husband's temper, stood hunched over a spilled pot of soup,

ried, trying to interve

ith her! Just like Avery's wedding debacle. You're both useless!" He swatted

rich man? What good is it?" His words, sharp and cutting, sliced th

er eyes, usually so full of gentle resignation

own heartbreak-it all coalesced into a cold, fierce resolve. I walked directly into t

ng my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Her ey

unwavering. "Don't you dare talk to her like that." My voic

urb after you made a fool of yourself? What gives you the right to speak, after disgracing this family?" He took a step towards m

andoned us for another woman? The 'honor' you lost when you pawned off my mother's jewelry to pay your gambling debts?" The words, long suppressed,

son. He raised his hand, tremblin

ed on his, a quiet defiance burning in their dep

horitative voice filled the doorway. "Mr. Trevi

t. He stood there, impeccably dressed, his face a mask of cool authorit

ize for my tardiness. Traffic was dreadful." He turned to my parents, a practiced, charming smile gracing his lips. "I trust there hasn't been too much troubl

. My father, stunned by Grant's presence, stammered, his anger draining awa

isunderstanding. Nothing you need to concern yourself with, si

e. And perhaps," he glanced at the spilled soup, "help clear up any... misunderstandings." He gestured slightly to his

little something for the family, to smo

nsive watch. His face, moments ago contorted with rage, now split in

power. I had seen this before. In his office, in his carefully curated public appearances. This was the Grant Sut

The words reverberated, clashing with the scene before me. This calculated display of power, this smooth manipulation, it was all to reel me back in. I was the suitable choice. The one w

e present. Grant leaned in, his voice a low murmur

over Grant, their earlier anger forgotten in the presence of his wealth and infl

illa, the cool night air a welcome relief. I stopped, turning to

id, my voice quiet, almost a w

earing between his brows. "Aver

berate step back, creating a physical distance b

be ridiculous. This is just a misunderst