Claimed by The Rival CEO

Camila’s pov My fiancé is having s*x with my sister on our engagement night. The thought echoed through my mind, but it still didn't feel real. Just hours earlier, I had believed today would be the happiest day of my life. The day I, Camila Stones, the quiet, adopted daughter who never quite fit into the gilded frame of her own family, would finally secure her place and be engaged to Alex Laurent, the heir to Laurent Holdings. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the yacht’s luxurious master suite, the one I had designed myself with soft champagne silk walls, warm walnut accents, and lighting that made everything feel like a dream. The dress hugged my curves like it had been poured over me—ivory satin that caught the light with every breath, delicate lace tracing my shoulders and plunging just enough to feel elegant rather than exposed. My dark hair was swept up in soft waves, diamonds sparkling at my throat. I looked like the perfect bride-to-be. But inside, my stomach twisted with a quiet anxiety I couldn’t name. I smoothed the fabric over my hips, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. This was what you wanted, Camila. Stability. A future. Someone who chose you. Alex Laurent was handsome, ambitious, and came from a family that matched ours in power. The merger of Stones Realty and Laurent Holdings would secure everything. The door swung open behind me. My mother bumped in like a storm dressed in diamonds. “Camila.” Her voice was a scalpel. Clean, sharp, precise. Eleanor Stone placed a hand on the nape of my neck. She was a monument to perfection—blonde hair sprayed into flawless submission, tailored white suit untouched by a single wrinkle, diamonds glittering at her ears. The woman who had taken me from a foster home at four years old. The woman who had given me everything except affection. “Let me see you.” She gripped my shoulder and turns me toward the light. Slowly, her gaze traveled from the top of my head to the hem of my gown. Not like a mother admiring her daughter on one of the most important days of her life. Like an inspector searching for flaws. I stood perfectly still. Waiting. Her eyes linger on my hair, my makeup, the simple diamond earrings I’d bought with my own money because I didn’t want to wear the family jewels. A muscle ticked in her jaw. “For God’s sake.” She stepped back. “You're as pale as a ghost.” The words land exactly where they always do. Not you look beautiful, not I’m proud of you, not even how are you feeling? Just criticism. Always criticism. “Lift your face,” she said. I obeyed. “Higher.” I raised my chin another inch. She studied me again. “Smile.” I forced my lips upward. “There,” she said with a satisfied nod. “At least now you don’t look like you’re headed to your own execution.” Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, assessing, calculating. "This night is not about your feelings. It's about perception. Every investor in the city is on the yacht. Every reporter who matters. The Laurent family is giving us their only son. Do you understand what that means?" "Yes, Mother." "Then act like it." She cupped my chin, tilting my face toward the light. Her touch is clinical, not warm. "Don't embarrass us in front of the guests. Not tonight. Not ever." She released me like I've burned her fingers. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Is Dad here?" "Your father is greeting the Laurents." She said it like I should have known better than to ask. Her gaze swept across the suite. “And where is your sister? She’s supposed to be helping you.” As if summoned by the question itself, a soft knock sounded at the door. Before either of us could answer, it opened. My younger adopted sister Vivian stepped inside. Where I had dark hair, dark eyes, and muted elegance, Vivian was a firework. Blonde, blue-eyed, with a figure that demanded attention and a smile that promised a thousand secrets. Her dress was a s***h of red silk against the neutral tones of the suite, bold and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t the kind of dress you wore to celebrate someone else’s engagement. It was the kind of dress you wore because you wanted to be noticed. "Cammy?" "Hey," I said quietly. “Darling.” My mother’s entire face softened as she turned toward Vivian. “Where have you been?” Vivian flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Some of the guests needed help finding their tables, and Mrs. Davenport wouldn’t stop talking once she found me.” A soft laugh escaped my mother. “That sounds like her.” The warmth in her voice is impossible to miss. Then she gestured toward me. “Well, your sister could use some help. The guests are already arriving.” “Of course.” Vivian crossed the room toward me, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. When she reached me, her eyes widened dramatically. “Oh, Cammy.” She places a hand over her chest. “You look beautiful.” A genuine smile tugged at my lips. “Thank you.” She steps back to admire me. “No, seriously. You look stunning.” Her grin widened. “Alex isn’t going to be able to take his eyes off you tonight.” “He’d better not,” my mother huffed. Her gaze landed on me one final time. “Now straighten those shoulders and keep that smile on your face. The Stones name is on the line tonight.” As always, it sounds less like encouragement and more like a warning. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked out. Vivian reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Breathe, Cammy.” I glanced at her. “Tonight’s going to be perfect,” she said softly. “Alex is going to lose his mind when he sees you.” A small laugh escaped me. “Does he even pay attention to that kind of thing?” Vivian laughed. “He’s a man, Cammy. They always pay attention.” She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tonight is your night. Don’t let Mom get inside your head.” My smile softened. “You deserve this.” Something about the way she said it makes my chest tightened. Maybe it’s because nobody else has said those words to me all day. “Thanks, Vivi.” Her smile widened. The same smile I’ve trusted for years. She loops her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s go get you engaged. We stepped out of the suite and into the main deck where the ceremony was set. The yacht was a masterpiece. I designed every inch of it myself—the soft cream seating, the cascading floral arrangements, the warm golden lighting that makes everyone look ethereal. For months, I poured myself into this project, choosing every fabric and every centerpiece, hoping that if I made tonight perfect enough, my family might finally look at me with something other than calculated approval. The main deck buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses. Crystal chandeliers sway gently with the movement of the water. I spotted my father near the bar, laughing with a group of investors, his hand on my mother's lower back. They don't look for me. They never do. And then I see Alex. He was leaning against the bar in a tailored black suit, his dark hair swept back, his smile easy and confident. Alexander Laurent is the kind of handsome that makes women turn their heads in restaurants. Sharp jaw. Green eyes that crinkle when he laughs. A voice that sounds like warm whiskey. When he saw me, his face lit up. "There she is." He pushed off the bar and crossed to me, his hand finding my waist like it belonged there. “Camila,” he murmured against my ear, lips brushing my skin. “You look absolutely breathtaking. I'm the luckiest man in this city tonight." My stomach flips—not with butterflies, exactly. Something else. Something I can't name. Before I could respond, my father took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, his voice booming across the deck. "Thank you for joining us to celebrate the union of two extraordinary families." The crowd became silent. I feel every eye turn toward Alex and me. My father talked about legacy and partnership and the future of real estate in this city. He talked about how Stones Realty Group and Laurent Holdings will change the skyline together. He talked about everything except love. When he finally said, "I am thrilled to announce the engagement of my daughter, Camila Stones, to Alexander Laurent," the applause was deafening. Alex took my hand, squeezing it as we stepped forward. Guests swarmed us with congratulations, air kisses, and toasts. And then I notice Vivian. She was standing at the edge of the crowd, her champagne glass half-empty, her expression unreadable. When our eyes met, she didn't smile. She just turned and walked toward the interior of the yacht. I told myself it's nothing. A moment later, Alex leaned down slightly, his hand still resting at my waist. "Darling, I need to step out for a minute," he murmured. "I need to use the restroom." I nodded quickly. “Okay.” He pressed a brief kiss to my temple, then released me. “I’ll be right back.” Before I can say anything else, he’s already moving through the crowd, disappearing toward the interior corridor. Then I forced a smile as another wave of guests approached. For the next several minutes, I endured congratulations, air kisses, handshakes, and endless comments about what a beautiful couple Alex and I made. My cheeks ached from smiling. Eventually, the crowd began to thin. Excusing myself, I returned to our table and sank into my chair, grateful for a moment of peace. Alex still hadn’t come back. "Excuse me, ma'am." I looked up to find one of the bartenders standing beside me. "Mr. Laurent left his phone at the bar earlier," he explained, holding it out. "It's been ringing nonstop, but I couldn't get it to him while you were both on stage." "Oh. Thank you." I took the phone from him. The screen lit up almost immediately. Incoming Call. It was an unfamiliar number. The call stopped before I could do anything, only to start ringing again seconds later. I frowned. Alex should have been back by now. How long does it take to use the restroom? I glanced toward the crowd, expecting to see him weaving his way back to me. Nothing. Another few minutes passed. Still nothing. A strange uneasiness settled in my chest. Maybe it's important, I thought. Clutching his phone, I rose from my seat and started looking for him. I made my way toward the restrooms. The hallway was quiet compared to the celebration outside. I checked the men's restroom entrance and waited. No sign of him. My heartbeat quickened. Where was he? The yacht wasn't that large. I had helped design parts of it myself. I knew every corridor, every private lounge, every hidden corner. Alex should have been back by now. His phone buzzed again in my hand. And again. Then I remembered— The lower deck. Private suites and lounges I had designed for intimate conversations. Spaces meant for privacy. For business deals behind closed doors. For moments away from the crowd. As I moved towards it, Alex's voice drifted from one of them. I smiled faintly. There you are. But as I drew closer, the sounds changed. Not conversation. A rhythmic thud. A woman’s moan, breathy and unrestrained. My hand found the door handle. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. My steps slowed. The door was slightly ajar. I should have turned around. Instead, something cold and heavy settled in my chest. I pushed the door open. The sight hit me like a slap. Alex was thrusting into a woman and that woman was Vivian. My sister. He had her bent over the velvet chaise I’d personally selected for the yacht’s interior, her red dress rucked up around her waist. He was behind her, pants around his ankles, driving into her with hard, wet thrusts. Her moans filled the small room—loud, shameless. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back as he took her deeper. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. I could only stare. The man who was supposed to become my husband was with my sister. And the worst part? He was devouring her. They were consuming each other. There was no gentleness, no trace of the tender man who kissed my forehead. This was raw, ugly, and frantic. A collision of pure, selfish need. This was the truth stripped bare, the performance was for me. The polite, controlled love was a lie. This savage, unhinged hunger was what he truly was. “f**k, Vivian, you’re so goddamn good,” he grunted, slapping her ass. “Better than your sister ever was.” Vivian laughed breathlessly, pushing back against him. “She’s always been the safe, boring choice. You’re mine. I’m all yours.” My hand went numb. His phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. The sound shattered the moment. They both froze. Alex’s head snapped toward me, eyes wide with shock, still buried deep inside my sister. “Camila—” he started, pulling away with a sound that made my stomach turn. Vivian straightened, not even bothering to fix her dress fully, a cruel little smile curling her lips. “Oops. Caught red-handed.” The room spun. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. All the years of feeling like an outsider, of working for scraps of affection, of believing this engagement might finally make me belong—it shattered in one devastating instant. I took a step back. And before either of them could say another word, I turned and ran.