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."
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
Dayna POV:
Brooks froze. His body, usually so controlled, became rigid. His eyes fixed on the scattered pieces of the divorce papers at his feet. The color drained from his face as he finally, truly, saw them. Saw my signature, his signature, the official seals. The undeniable proof.
He bent to pick them up, his movements slow and deliberate, as if in a daze. But just as his fingers brushed the crumpled paper, his phone blared. The ringtone. Everleigh's special ringtone. A childish, tinkling melody that grated on my nerves.
His head snapped up. His eyes, now filled with a desperate urgency, darted to his phone, then back to the papers. Everleigh always came first. Always.
He snatched his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen. "Everleigh? What is it?" His voice was laced with a frantic anxiety I had never heard directed at me. "I'm coming. Don't worry. I'll be right there."
He didn't even look at me. He just grabbed his jacket, already half out the door. "Dayna," he mumbled, his voice rushed, "I have to go. Everleigh needs me. We'll talk about this later. Don't... don't do anything rash."
Rash. The irony was a bitter pill. He was talking about divorce papers he' d already signed, about a marriage he' d already broken. I watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him. He hadn't even looked at the contents of the papers, hadn't even processed the finality of it. Everleigh's call was an emergency. My heartbreak was a "talk about this later."
A cold, hard laugh bubbled up from my chest. It was almost comical. He hadn't even bothered to read the document that severed our ties. It was just another piece of paper, easily dismissed in the face of Everleigh's latest crisis.
I got out of bed, my foot still aching, but my mind clear of any lingering doubts. I calmly collected the scattered pieces of the divorce papers, smoothed them out as best I could, and placed them in a small, locked box in my closet. The cooling-off period was almost over. I just had to wait.
Days turned into a week. Brooks didn't come home. His presence, or rather, his absence, was a palpable void. He was with Everleigh, of course. Tending to her latest manufactured crisis. I heard whispers from the staff-Everleigh's engagement to the Sterling heir had been called off. Another scandal. Another reason for Brooks to be by her side, consoling her, protecting her.
Then, one evening, he returned. He burst through the door, his face flushed, his eyes blazing, a storm cloud of fury unleashed.
"What did you do, Dayna?" he roared, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "What did you do to Everleigh?"
I looked at him, surprised. A quiet, almost serene smile touched my lips. "To Everleigh? I haven't done anything to Everleigh, Brooks. I've been here, quietly waiting for our divorce to be finalized."
My voice was calm, almost detached. And the sight of my composure seemed to enrage him further. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me! Everleigh just called. She's been arrested! For theft!"
He paused, a triumphant sneer on his face. "And she said you put her up to it. Convinced her to 'borrow' a painting from a gallery, just to get back at me."
His words were a whirlwind of accusations, a frantic torrent of sound. He was talking. So much. More than he had ever talked to me. And it was all for Everleigh. All about her. My heart, which I thought was numb, pulsed with a fresh wave of pain.
"She said that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "She said I put her up to it?"
"Yes!" he thundered. "She's in a holding cell right now, terrified! Do you have any idea what this could do to her? To us? To the family's reputation?"