THE CEO’S FORGOTTEN BRIDE

Dining With Monsters

The mirror didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

The red silk dress clung to my skin like a second layer of muscle, and the rubies around my neck felt like drops of blood frozen in time. The maid had worked in silence, her movements surgical, erasing the bruises on my wrists with layers of expensive foundation. By the time she was done, I looked like the porcelain doll Isaac wanted perfect, untouchable, and utterly hollow.

The door opened, and Isaac walked in. He was in a black tuxedo now, looking every bit the king of this dark empire. He stood behind me, his hands resting heavily on my shoulders. Our eyes met in the glass.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone. "Remember, Christine. Every eye in that room is an investor. Every smile is worth millions. Don't make me regret giving you this freedom."

"I know my role, Isaac," I said, my voice as cold and flat as the marble floors beneath us.

He smiled, a sharp, satisfied expression. He offered his arm, and I took it, the fabric of his sleeve feeling like a leash. We walked out of the suite and down the grand staircase. Below, the foyer was filled with the low hum of elite conversation, the clinking of crystal, and the scent of expensive cigars.

As we reached the bottom floor, the room went silent for a heartbeat before erupting into polite applause.

"The lady of the house has returned!" a man shouted from the center of the room. He was older, with a predatory grin and eyes that moved over me like a buyer inspecting merchandise.

Isaac led me through the crowd, introducing me to names that meant nothing to my shattered mind. I smiled until my face ached. I nodded when he prompted me. I was the perfect bride, the miracle who had survived the crash.

But my eyes were constantly searching. I was looking for any sign of Marry Justine. I scanned the faces of the women in the room architects, wives, business partners hoping for a spark of recognition or a hint of the name from my locket.

"You look distant, Christine," a woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

She was tall, with sharp features and hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. She held a champagne flute with a grip that turned her knuckles white.

"I'm just a bit overwhelmed," I lied, keeping my gaze steady. "It’s been a long recovery."

"I can imagine," she replied, her voice dropping to a whisper as Isaac was pulled into a conversation a few feet away. "This house is... a lot to take in. I should know. I spent three years designing every inch of it."

My heart stopped. I felt the blood rush to my ears. The architect.

"You designed this estate?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

She gave a small, weary smile. "Every hidden hallway and every reinforced door. Isaac Moretti is a man who values his privacy above all else." She extended a hand, her eyes flickering with something that looked suspiciously like pity. "I don't think we were ever officially introduced before the accident. I’m Marry. Marry Justine."

The name hit me like a physical blow. I reached out to take her hand, my fingers brushing against hers. For a split second, she squeezed my palm, and I felt something small and hard being pressed into my hand.

"It’s a beautiful home, Marry," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Though sometimes, I feel like I'm still getting lost in it."

"The blueprints are complicated," she said, her eyes darting toward Isaac, who was already turning back toward us. "But once you know where the service vents lead, it’s much easier to find your way out."

Isaac’s hand landed on the small of my back, possessive and heavy. "Everything alright here, ladies?"

"Just discussing the architecture, Isaac," Marry said, her face returning to a mask of professional boredom. "Your wife has excellent taste."

"She has the best of everything," Isaac said, pulling me closer to him.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, I felt like I was floating. The small object Marry had given me was tucked safely inside the palm of my hand. It was a key. Not a physical one, but a small, silver thumb drive.

I waited until the guests had left and Isaac was busy in his study. I retreated to my room, the heavy red dress feeling like a weight I could no longer carry. I waited for the house to go silent, for the guards to rotate their shifts.

I moved to the small laptop Isaac had left on the vanity a "gift" to help me browse for new clothes. I plugged the drive in.

The screen flickered, and a folder opened. It wasn't just blueprints. It was a video file labeled: THE ACCIDENT - AUGUST 14TH.

I clicked play.

The video was from a dashboard camera. It showed a car my car speeding down a rain-slicked road. But there was another car behind it, a black SUV, ramming into the back of it over and over.

The SUV wasn't a stranger. I recognized the license plate. It was Isaac’s personal vehicle.

And then, the audio kicked in. A man’s voice, screaming my name over the roar of the engine.

“Christine! Hold on! I’m coming for you!”

It wasn't Isaac’s voice. It was Razack.

The video showed my car spinning out of control, flipping over the guardrail. The black SUV stopped at the edge of the cliff. Isaac stepped out, standing in the rain, watching as the car plummeted into the darkness. He didn't call for help. He didn't scream.

He just watched.

And then, a second man ran toward the edge Razack. He tried to dive after the car, but Isaac’s guards tackled him, beating him until he was motionless on the asphalt.

I stared at the screen, tears streaming down my face. Isaac hadn't saved me from an accident. He had caused it. He had stolen my life, killed my memories, and was now keeping the man who actually loved me as a trophy in his basement.

A shadow moved in the doorway of my room.

"I told you not to go digging, Christine," Isaac’s voice was like a cold blade against my neck.

I turned, the laptop still glowing with the evidence of his crimes. He was standing there, his eyes twin pits of darkness.

"Now," he said, walking toward me. "We’re going to have to do this the hard way."