We arrived at the house.

No—the mansion.

The one my father had so graciously gifted to this son of a bitch as our engagement present.

It was massive—an estate fit for a king.

And now I understood why he’d been so desperate to marry me.

Men like Christian would always chase what they could never earn.

But me?

I was the prize.

He stepped out first, walking over to open the door for me like some perfect gentleman.

Took my hand.

Helped me out.

Kissed my fingers.

And I looked right at him and smiled.

“What a romantic man you are,” I said sweetly, my voice soaked in sarcasm he couldn’t taste.

He grinned. “Anything for my princess.”

I saw Bethany behind him, her expression barely masking the envy simmering in her throat.

Good.

Let it eat her alive.

Of course she’d be jealous.

It must hurt to always be the side chick—never the woman walking through the front door of a mansion.

As we entered, our personal butler greeted us, holding the grand double doors open like royalty was arriving.

The place really was stunning.

My father never did anything halfway.

Christian turned to me with a soft smile. “Are you tired tonight? Would you like us to, you know... spend our wedding night together?”

The hesitation in his voice made bile rise in my throat.

Imagine.

Your own husband asking if you want to have sex on your wedding night.

Asking like he’s doing you a favor.

I faked a yawn, exaggerated and dainty.

“You know what?” I replied gently. “I’m exhausted. The day’s been so long, so emotional. Let’s not waste energy tonight.”

His relief was so loud I could hear it echo in the marble hallway.

“Okay, fine. No problem,” he said almost too quickly.

No problem?

It didn’t even bother him.

No frustration. No disappointment. No affection.

Nothing.

Just a man who clearly had already gotten off before the vows were even exchanged.

He led me up the staircase to my bedroom like a perfect host, not a husband.

Opened the door, smiled that same fake smile.

“Have a lovely night, my princess.”

I turned to him and mirrored his grin.

“Have a lovely night, my husband.”

And with that, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.

I stood in my bedroom, staring at my reflection.

Then slowly, I peeled off that useless white wedding dress.

It was beautiful, expensive, flawless… just like the lie I had lived.

I walked to the window, held it out, and released it.

The gown fluttered down like a ghost, landing in the pool with a soft splash.

Perfect.

Drowning—just like this marriage.

I didn’t even bother showering.

Instead, I slipped into the silk lingerie I had chosen weeks ago.

It was supposed to be for him.

For our wedding night.

But now?

I wore it for me.

For war.

I tied a robe over it and walked through the quiet halls of the mansion, each step deliberate.

I knew exactly where I was going.

The surveillance room.

Empty at this hour.

The staff had all gone.

The only people left awake in this house were the sinners—and the woman who would punish them.

I entered and turned on the monitors.

Each screen flickered to life.

And there they were.

My husband and my best friend.

On my velvet couch.

In my living room.

Fucking like animals.

The way he touched her.

The way she whimpered his name.

It should’ve shattered me.

But all I felt was a cold, sharp stillness… like calm before a storm.

I hit record.

Let them squirm.

Let them enjoy it.

Let them think they’re winning.

Because I’m going to wait.

Patiently.

Perfectly.

Until the right moment.

And then?

I will burn them both to ash

----

Morning came faster than I expected.

A soft knock echoed at my door, followed by the creak of it opening.

I didn’t even have to look—I could smell him.

Not just him, but the sex clinging to his skin like perfume.

Disgusting.

He hadn’t even showered.

And yet, this man—this audacious creature—dared to lean in and kiss me.

“Good morning, my beautiful wife,” he whispered into my ear, with that fake, syrupy morning voice.

I nearly gagged.

Instead, I smiled and said sweetly, “Good morning, my husband,”

Then I slid out from beneath the sheets, avoiding his touch like it was the plague.

“I made breakfast,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Well, the chef did. But it’s something special. Join me?”

“Sure,” I replied, my voice calm.

He offered me his hand. Ever the gentleman.

We walked together down the staircase, hand in hand.

A pretty picture.

A perfect lie.

“You look beautiful this morning,” he said, giving me a soft glance.

I responded, “Thank you. I always look beautiful.”

He chuckled awkwardly, “But today, you’re even more radiant. Maybe it’s because you’re my wife now.”

I tilted my head and said, “Of course. I mean, have you ever seen a woman more radiant?”

Just then, I glanced up at the balcony and spotted her—Bethany.

Wrapped in a silk robe, cigarette between her fingers, mascara smudged like the whore she was.

She was watching us.

I smiled.

Christian added, “No, there’s no other woman as beautiful as you. You’re the rarest diamond. I’d be a fool to look at anyone else.”

I didn’t look away from Bethany as I replied, “Of course you’d be a fool.”

She scowled. Her lips tightened.

Then she turned and stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind her.

Christian followed my gaze. “Was that Bethany?”

I shrugged, “Oh? I wonder what’s wrong.”

We reached the dining table. I took my seat with grace.

Then, silently, I tapped my phone and hit send.

I watched as his phone buzzed almost immediately.

His smile faded.

He paled.

My smile didn’t move an inch.

“What’s the matter, honey?” I asked, sipping my mimosa.

He stood quickly, face stiff. “Excuse me,” he muttered and hurried out of the room.

I smirked as he ran out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall like a man running from a ghost.

Run, little husband.

This is only the beginning of your nightmares.

I leaned back in my chair, picked up my mimosa, and sipped it slowly.

The sunlight hit the crystal just right, making it sparkle—like me, deadly and beautiful.

Then I glanced down at my phone.

The video I sent him was still open.

Him.

Fucking my best friend.

On our wedding night.

In our home.

In the living room.

I pressed play again, just to admire my work. The angle, the clarity. The way his face twisted in pleasure. The way hers contorted in filth.

I smiled—cruel, quiet, satisfied.

Revenge tasted like citrus and champagne.