Betrayed Bride: Marrying The Ice Tyrant

Faye Matthews POV:

I was still staring at the sickening headline on my phone when it lit up again.

Preston Reynolds. My adoptive father.

I took a breath that felt like swallowing glass and answered.

It wasn't comfort that greeted me.

It was a roar.

"Faye Matthews! What the hell have you done? Do you have any idea what this does to our family's reputation!"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"When your precious Sienna was screwing my fiancé on our anniversary, did you ask her what that would do to the family's reputation?"

Preston's voice turned sharp, venomous.

"You shut your mouth! You don't know the truth! The person who saved Carter's life back then wasn't you; it was Sienna! You stole her credit!"

My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed.

I was the one who saved Carter six years ago.

How could I possibly be mistaken about who I saved?

How dare they twist the truth like this!

"What did you say?"

My voice trembled.

My adoptive mother, Carol Reynolds, snatched the phone.

Her voice was just as shrill.

"You ungrateful brat! We raised you for years, and this is how you repay us? Sienna let you have that honor because she didn't want you to feel bad, and you stab her in the back!"

Lies.

All of it.

I remembered that summer.

The cold water of the lake.

Me, jumping in, dragging a cramping Carter to the shore.

Sienna had been standing on the dock, screaming, too afraid of the water to even get her feet wet.

Now, to protect Sienna, they were rewriting history.

I was shaking with a rage so pure it left me speechless.

In their eyes, everything I cherished was just something Sienna had let me borrow, something she could take back at any moment.

The line went dead.

A moment later, Carter's call came through.

I swiped to answer, saying nothing.

His voice was tired, laced with a pathetic attempt at remorse.

"Faye, I'm sorry... but what your father said is true. Sienna just told me. She was the one who had her friend call the ambulance. She's been quietly supporting me all this time... I misunderstood."

His pathetic excuse was so laughable it almost made me choke.

A man could justify a three-year betrayal with a freshly baked lie.

"So, I was just an understudy, right?" I asked, each word a shard of ice.

The long silence on the other end was the only answer I needed.

I hung up and threw the phone onto the café table.

The weight of the humiliation, the sheer scale of the betrayal, was a tidal wave, pulling me under.

I hadn't lost to Sienna.

I had lost to a grand conspiracy they had all woven together, with me as the fool.

I slumped back in my chair, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, but it offered no warmth.

The handkerchief with "BS" on it was crumpled in my hand, the silk nearly shredded by my grip.

The café door chimed.

A barista approached, clearing his throat apologetically.

"Miss, we're closing now. You'll have to leave."

I had nowhere left to go.

Even this last refuge was shutting its doors on me.

I stood up, dazed.

Where could I go?

I couldn't go home.

A hotel required an ID, and I didn't want Preston to find me.

I walked out of the café and stood in the cold, late-night rain.

I felt like an orphan, abandoned by the entire world.

A black Bentley Mulsanne pulled up silently in front of me.

The window glided down.

It was the assistant of the man from the café.

"Miss Matthews," he said politely. "Mr. Sterling sent me to pick you up. He said it's not safe for a young woman to be on the streets of New York this late at night."

I looked at the warm light inside the car, and I hesitated.

I knew nothing about this man.

Getting into his car could be dangerous.

But then I looked back at the cold, dark rain behind me.

Could things get any worse?

I pulled open the door and got in.

The car was warm and dry.

The assistant handed me a bottle of heated mineral water and then drove in silence, not asking a single question.

We didn't go to a hotel.

We pulled up in front of an ultra-secure, top-tier apartment building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

I followed the assistant into a private elevator that went straight to the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened, and there he was.

The man they called "Mr. Sterling."

He had changed into casual loungewear, which softened his sharp edges, giving him a relaxed, domestic air.

He looked at me, his gaze calm.

"My name is Blake Sterling, you can stay here tonight. It's safe. No one will find you."

I looked into his bottomless eyes, my mind filled with questions and suspicion.

"Why are you helping me? What do you want?"

He looked at me with a flicker of unreadable nostalgia in his eyes, before his expression settled back into calm.

Then he said something I never expected.

"I don't make losing deals. Helping you serves a purpose. And then, my lawyer will contact you."