Our wedding gift was a little too… grand for my liking.

A billion dollars.

Yes. One billion dollars.

Courtesy of my father. A “gift” to his beloved son-in-law to celebrate our union.

I almost laughed.

Of course. No wonder Christian was so eager to marry me. No wonder he was planning to get rid of me so soon.

The faster I was out of the picture, the faster he could inherit the rest of my father’s billionaire empire. The house. The shares. The global legacy.

All of it.

I looked at him—this greedy, desperate, pathetic excuse of a man—and smiled.

Of course that’s what he wanted. To take everything I was supposed to have. To erase me and wear my crown.

If only my father would let me inherit the company without the title of wife attached to me. If only I didn’t need a man beside me just to be taken seriously in my own bloodline.

But fine. Let them all play their game.

Because I had a new plan.

I would use Christian—just like he tried to use me. I’d let him think he was winning. I’d let him enjoy his prize.

And when the time was right?

I’d take over everything.

Everything.

And I’d replace him with a man ten times more powerful—if I ever bothered to marry again.

Because let’s be honest. What man could ever deserve me?

I scoffed quietly.

I picked this man out of the dirt. Out of bankruptcy. Out of obscurity. I gave him the audacity to dream, and this was how he repaid me?

Cheating on me with a bridesmaid like a discount soap opera villain.

All the while, we were cutting cake, smiling for photos, and taking hands with relatives who were busy wishing me,

“Happy married life! Happy married life!”

Happy, huh?

I smiled. I laughed. I played the perfect bride in every frame.

And then—of course—Bethany caught my bouquet.

That bitch.

As the crowd clapped and squealed, all I could think was one thing:

I wish her the most miserable wedding life anyone has ever known.

Because I knew.

I knew what she was.

She wasn’t just sleeping with my husband.

She was also sleeping with my father.

Even on our wedding day, the audacity of this man.

We were having a toast. I stood by his side—his glowing, perfect bride. And right next to him? Bethany. My best friend. My betrayer.

And what did this fool do?

He poured wine into her glass first.

Before mine.

Before everyone.

In full view of the crowd.

A silence settled over the table. People saw it. Some exchanged glances. Even my father raised a brow.

And do you know what I did?

I smiled.

Then I leaned toward him and asked sweetly, “Tell me, Christian—who are you supposed to pour wine for first? Your bride… or your bridesmaid?”

He laughed nervously. “Oh come on, it’s nothing. It’s our wedding day—everyone’s celebrating. Don’t take it to heart.”

I tilted my head.

“You’re right,” I said with a laugh. “I shouldn’t take it to heart at all.”

I raised my glass. “Here,” I whispered with a glint in my eye, “have a refreshing drink.”

And then I poured my wine all over him. Red. Bold. Perfectly staining his pale cream suit.

The crowd gasped.

“Oh my God,” I said, blinking in feigned horror. “I’m so sorry. I think I’ve had a little too much to drink.”

I giggled, brushing my hair behind my ear. “What a clumsy bride I am. Everyone, please enjoy the party. Consider this… a little mistake.”

I turned away from him before I could see the rage build on his face.

Because I didn’t care.

Let him burn under those lights.

And let everyone watch.

As I walked into the changing room to slip into my reception dress, I felt it—the sadness. Heavy and suffocating. Creeping into my chest like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

This was someone I had loved my entire life.

No one else had ever held my heart the way Christian did. No one else ever mattered the way he did.

And now?

He had shattered me.

Crushed every bit of that love beneath his feet.

No matter how much I smiled, laughed, posed for photos, raised my glass… inside, I was breaking. A part of me was crumbling into dust, and I could feel the ache rising with every breath.

How could he do this to me?

I sat in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection. The dress, the jewels, the flawless face. And behind all of it—red-rimmed eyes and a heart struggling to beat through betrayal.

My makeup artist caught my expression as she touched up my lips. Her hand froze.

“Is everything okay?” she asked gently.

I looked at her through the mirror. “What would you do if your man cheated on you?”

She paused, met my eyes without hesitation.

“I’d get revenge,” she said calmly. “I wouldn’t walk away empty-handed. I’d take everything he holds dear. Everything he’s lived for. Everything he’s worked for. And then I’d leave him with nothing but dust.”

I blinked.

Then I smiled.

“That’s a brilliant idea.”

I rose from the chair, my sequined reception gown catching the light like a thousand tiny blades.

I looked at myself once more in the mirror, this time not with sadness—but with fire.

“I guess I’m ready,”I said softly.

“Ready for revenge.”