I Married to the Man Who Ruined Me

The first time I saw Alexander Blackwood again, he was standing at the altar. Tall. Cold. Untouchable. The same man who had signed a paper five years ago and destroyed my father’s company without even blinking. My fingers tightened around the white bouquet as the wedding music echoed through the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above me, mocking everything I had lost. This wasn’t love. This was a transaction. “Smile,” my aunt whispered sharply beside me. “The media is watching.” I lifted my lips, forming a perfect bride’s smile, while my heart screamed. Alexander finally turned to face me. His eyes—dark, sharp, unreadable—paused on my face for a second longer than necessary. I wondered if he recognized me. He didn’t. To him, I was just another woman bought to fulfill a clause in a contract. “To the outside world,” his lawyer had said earlier, “this marriage will strengthen the Blackwood family image.” To me, it was my only way back into his world. As I reached the altar, Alexander leaned closer, his voice low and emotionless. “This marriage changes nothing,” he said. “We live separate lives. Don’t fall in love with me.” I met his gaze and smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry,” I replied. “I married you for the same reason you married me.” His brow furrowed. “And what reason is that?” I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper. “Survival.” The officiant began to speak. “Do you, Alexander Blackwood, take—” “Yes,” he answered before the question was finished. The word echoed like a gunshot. When it was my turn, my chest tightened. Did I take this man—the man who ruined me—as my husband? I looked into his eyes and thought of my father’s death, my mother’s tears, and the life stolen from me. “Yes,” I said. And just like that, my revenge began.