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His Betrayal, Her Burning Revenge

Chapter 4 

Word Count: 1534    |    Released on: 03/07/2025

ing in a notebook, designing clothes fueled by a cold, sharp anger. She avoided him, and he,

in the kitchen, staring

id, not a request, but a command. He was al

or a party," she said

for argument. "It' s a welcome-home party for Willow. My business pa

She was his secret mistress, and he wanted her to play a part in w

lipped. If he wanted a perfor

a hundred pairs of eyes on her. She was Scarlett Hayes, the disgraced designer, on the a

was dressed in a pale pink dress, looking fragile and ethereal. She saw Scarlett and a

She reached out and squeezed Ethan's arm possessively. "I

nything behind," Scarlett

e looked up at Ethan, her eyes welling w

low and threatening. He then turned his full attention to Willow, his expression

timate it made Scarlett's stomach clench. He had never, not once, touched her with such

a glass of champagne, watching Ethan dote on Willow. He got her a shawl when she looked cold, brought her a pla

ed to start a party game. "Let's play 'Most Likely To'

but Ethan caught her arm. "Do

ve a zombie apocalypse?" Someone shouted Ethan's name. "Most

rected at Ethan. "Ethan, who's most li

ry designer, Scarlett, or

or a fraction of a second before a small smile touched his

ush of victory on her pale cheeks. Scarl

uestion was aimed at Scarlett' s profession, her identity. Ethan's gaze flickered to her, then to

nted at Ethan. "Alright, Vance, the big one. You're on a sinking shi

a verdict. Scarlett held her breath, her heart pounding. Ethan looked at Willow, who was gazi

y word he could have spoken. It stretched for an

id with a light, tinkling laugh, though her eyes were

ming nod. The crowd, relie

pain that burned through her chest. She felt the eyes of everyone in t

ading to the back of the mansion. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her breathing under control, f

hall. As she passed a darkened alcove, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

rred, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey. He pulled

tt snarled, trying t

allway. Relief, sharp and immediate, flooded

other direction. It was Willow. "I th

, but his gaze immediately shifted to the direction of Willow's voice. Without a momen

t stole the air from her lungs. In that moment

on the man's instep. He howled in pain, his grip loosening. She didn't stop there. She swung her purse, h

room where Ethan was now kneeling, tenderly examining Willow's perfec

n she heard footsteps behind her. It was Willow, ho

dn't mean it," Willow called out, he

," Scarlett spat,

aining a cruel edge. "I'm his past. You're just... a distraction. A

tracks and turned to face her

reech of tires cut through the night. A car, one of the guest's sports cars, came careening

n. The car was heading straight fo

ing lights. He was running towards them. His eyes met Scarlet

looked a

hrew his body into her, tackling her out of the c

hose

his choice. The last thing she felt was a searing, unimaginable pain as the bumper of

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His Betrayal, Her Burning Revenge
His Betrayal, Her Burning Revenge
“The leather seats of the Rolls-Royce were cold against my bare skin, just like the emptiness inside me after another stolen encounter with Ethan Vance. I was Scarlett Hayes, a sharp fashion designer, entangled with a tech billionaire, a genius admired by the world. But tonight, the usual rush was gone, replaced by a chilling void as I watched city lights blur past. Then, a message on Ethan' s laptop caught my eye: "Ethan, the storm scares me..." From "Willow." Willow, my sickly stepsister, a name that tasted like bitter poison. My phone buzzed. It was Ethan. "I have to step out for a bit. An emergency. Stay here." He rushed out, leaving me with a cold dread. I tracked his car to a high-end hotel, and what I saw shattered my world: Ethan, tenderly carrying Willow like she was made of glass. He was her protector, her long-lost sweetheart; the two painful parts of my life colliding. Suddenly, Willow wasn't just some delicate girl. She was Ethan's past, and now, my stepsister. Rage, betrayal, and a deep, aching hurt swirled inside me. The arranged marriage my father forced on me wasn't just an escape anymore. It was a weapon. My revenge. Two days later, homeless and broke after a vengeful shopping spree, Ethan found me. He offered me refuge. I saw the handsome, deceptive face of the man who had played me for a fool. A week later, at Willow' s welcome-home party, the ultimate humiliation struck. In a cruel game, Ethan chose Willow repeatedly-for kindness, for trust, and finally, on a sinking ship, to save. His silence when asked who he loved more was a public verdict. He chose Willow. He always would. Something inside me snapped. I lunged at Willow, my hands finding her fragile neck. Ethan pulled me off, his face a mask of cold fury, choosing her even then. "He was never yours," Willow hissed after I was detained. "This whole affair? It was my idea. He recorded everything. All for me." The betrayal was monstrous. I walked out, went to his penthouse, and systematically destroyed it. I burned everything to the ground. The "ailing" groom in the South, Liam Sterling, was not what I expected. He was healthy, charming, and looked at me as a long-lost dream, confessing he had orchestrated the arranged marriage just to meet me. Just as I found a flicker of peace, a fragile hope for a new life, Ethan came back. He interrupted my engagement party, a wild, desperate man, publicly declaring his love for me. But it was too late. I rejected him. I had a new, real life. On the eve of my wedding, in a final, mad act of possession, Ethan kidnapped me. He took me to a secluded private island. He tried to rekindle our past with lavish gifts and desperate affection. I feigned compliance, secretly planning my escape. I managed to get a message to Liam. He came for me. As we escaped, a cliff collapsed. Ethan, in a single, selfless act, threw himself in front of us. He saved us. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Ethan, lying broken at the bottom of the cliff. He lost. I won. But deep down, a question lingered: what kind of love could twist so violently?”