Ninety-Nine Engagements, One Betrayal
After ninety-nine failed engagements, I finally married Brooks Preston, a stoic tech mogul who seemed to be the only man on earth who found my motormouth personality "charming."
But his quiet acceptance was a lie. I was just a convenient prop, a wife he needed to hide his obsessive, incestuous love for his adopted sister, Everleigh.
When I discovered their secret and demanded a divorce, he locked me in a dark, windowless room, weaponizing my childhood claustrophobia to break me. He needed me to take the fall for Everleigh's crimes, to protect her at all costs.
He watched me scream and claw at the walls for three days, my terror a spectacle for his cold, calculating eyes. He wasn't just indifferent; he was a monster.
I didn't break. Instead, I waited. On the night of a live-streamed gala, I looked into the camera and smiled. "Everleigh, darling, congratulations. I've already divorced him. He's all yours."
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Chapter 6
Dayna POV:
Brooks remained infuriatingly calm. His lips, usually so still, barely moved. "What did you see, Dayna?" he asked, his voice even, devoid of any discernible emotion.
His composure was a fresh wound. It was as if he was mocking me, questioning my sanity. My feverish mind, already reeling, began to doubt itself. Had I imagined it? The kiss in the dark? The stolen tie pin? Was I just a jealous wife, prone to dramatic hallucinations?
Then, my gaze fell upon his pristine white shirt. Tucked into the collar, a faint smudge of crimson. Lipstick. Everleigh's vibrant red.
The truth, stark and undeniable, hit me with centrifugal force. It wasn't a fever dream. It was real. All of it.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Nothing, Brooks. I must have been dreaming. The fever, you know. It makes you see things." My voice was brittle, thin.
A subtle easing of tension in his shoulders. He believed me. Or, rather, he believed I was retreating, as I always did, into my own world of words and stories. "Good," he said, his voice softening slightly. "I'm glad. Now, about the painting. I'm sorry about Ava's work. Everleigh... she needed it. For her portfolio. She's been struggling, you see, with her art, and she needed a boost of confidence."
My blood ran cold. Needed it? He was apologizing for her taking my sister's work? Not for the blatant theft, the desecration of Ava's memory, but for a "boost of confidence"?
He then pulled out his wallet, producing a pristine, blank check. "Here," he said, pressing it into my hand. "Compensation. Write down any amount you want. It's yours."
My hand trembled, not with fever, but with rage. A blank check. As if money could erase the betrayal. As if my sister's legacy, my heart, could be bought. I looked at the check, then at him, then back at the check. With a sudden, violent movement, I ripped it in half, the crisp paper tearing with a satisfying sound. Then I tore it again, and again, until it was nothing but confetti, fluttering to the floor.
Brooks stared, genuinely startled. A flicker of something, perhaps confusion, crossed his face. He had clearly not expected that.
"I don't need your money, Brooks," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I don't need compensation for my sister's art, and I certainly don't need it for my heart." I pulled the duvet up to my chin, turning my back to him, effectively shutting him out.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. I could feel his gaze on my back, a silent question. He was expecting me to speak, to explain, to fill the void. But I had no words left for him. My well of chatter, once overflowing, was now bone dry.
He cleared his throat. "Dayna," he began, his voice hesitant, "if it's not money you want... perhaps a larger share in the company? I can arrange for a substantial stock transfer. It would secure your financial future, and... well, it would show my commitment."
Still, I didn't respond. My silence, usually a source of anxiety for me, now felt like a shield.
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "Or... we could have a child, Dayna."
My head snapped around. "A child?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. My memory replayed itself, a cruel reminder of his past words. A child? Dayna, we're not ready. It's too much responsibility. I'm too busy. Everleigh needs me.
"Now you want a child?" I asked, my voice laced with venom. "Now, when we're getting divorced? Now, when you've made it abundantly clear your priorities lie elsewhere?" My blood boiled. I grabbed the torn divorce papers from the bedside table, the ones he had signed so carelessly after rushing off to Everleigh, and threw them at him. They fluttered through the air, landing softly at his feet.
"We are divorced, Brooks!" I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. "D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D! I am not your incubator! I am not a broodmare! And I am certainly not going to have your child just so you can appease your grandfather and keep your precious Everleigh close! We are over!" I bit down hard on my lip, drawing blood. The metallic taste filled my mouth, a stark reminder of the pain he had inflicted.