Revenge Marriage: The Jilted Ballerina's Comeback

I stood in the ballroom of the Pierre Hotel, holding a champagne flute that felt like a fragile anchor against a rising tide of anxiety. Across the room, the crowd of New York's elite parted as my fiancé, Campbell Brock, stepped onto the stage to announce a historic merger-and a shocking engagement to someone else. "I am proud to announce my engagement to Kandice Rose," he said, pulling the "real" daughter of the family into his arms while looking right through me as if I were a ghost. I dropped my glass, the crystal shattering at my feet, but the public humiliation was only the beginning. By the next morning, I was a viral meme dubbed the "Meltdown Girl," and the American Ballet Theatre had suspended me from my position as principal dancer for "moral turpitude." My bank accounts were frozen, my reputation was in tatters, and Kandice was on a livestream tearfully claiming I was a jealous foster girl who had tried to seduce Campbell behind her back. I had spent four years building a life with this man, only to be discarded like a piece of old wallpaper the moment a better business deal came along. How could the man who promised me a future turn me into a national joke overnight, and why was the world so eager to believe I was the villain in my own tragedy? When my high school best friend, the notorious billionaire playboy Charlton Bernard, found me drinking tequila in a dive bar, he didn't offer me a shoulder to cry on. He slid a marriage contract across the table and pressed a black titanium credit card into my hand. "Marry me for a year, Daphne," he said, his eyes burning with a dark, protective intensity that made my heart race. "We'll join their reality show as newlyweds and show the world exactly who the real winner is." I looked at the card, then at the man who had always been my shadow, and realized that being sensible had only gotten me dumped on a stage. "Let's go get married."

Chapters

Chapter 9

Daphne waited on the curb. She was wearing the red suit. She had pulled her hair back into a severe, sleek bun.

An engine roared.

A sleek, silver Aston Martin pulled up to the curb. It looked like a missile on wheels.

Charlton stepped out. He was wearing a fresh tuxedo, crisp and perfect.

He stopped when he saw her. His eyes widened slightly. He looked her up and down, lingering on the sharp lapels of the suit.

He opened the passenger door.

"Red suits you," he said. "It's aggressive."

"I'm done being passive," Daphne replied, sliding into the low leather seat.

Charlton got in and buckled up. "Where to first?"

"ABT," Daphne said. "I need to clear my locker before they throw my things out."

Charlton nodded. He didn't ask if she was okay. He knew she wasn't. He just put the car in gear and drove.

They wove through traffic toward Lincoln Center. The silence in the car was comfortable, heavy with shared purpose.

Daphne's phone rang.

It was connected to the car's Bluetooth. The name CAMPBELL flashed on the dashboard screen.

Charlton saw it. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

"You can answer," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't mind."

Daphne pressed 'Answer' on the dashboard.

"Daphne, finally," Campbell's voice filled the cabin. It was patronizing, annoyed. "Stop this tantrum."

Daphne stared at the dashboard.

"I saw you used the AMEX at the pharmacy," Campbell continued. "It declined. You're broke, Daphne."

Daphne flinched. He was tracking her. He was watching her fail.

"Come to the hotel," Campbell said, his voice softening into a fake concern. "I can help you with ABT. I know people on the board. We can fix this."

It was a bribe. He wanted her as a mistress. He wanted to keep her on the side while he married Kandice.

Charlton's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

Daphne looked at Charlton. Then she looked at the phone.

"I don't need your help, Campbell," she said. Her voice was steady. "I have a new manager."

"Who?" Campbell scoffed. "That loser agent of yours?"

"No," Daphne said clearly. "My fiancé."

Silence on the line.

"Fiancé? Who?" Campbell laughed nervously. "You don't have a fiancé."

"Charlton Bernard," Daphne dropped the bomb.

"Charlton?" Campbell's voice went up an octave. "The guy you friend-zoned in high school? He's a joke, Daphne. He's a mess."

Charlton didn't say a word. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the road, but his grip on the wheel was lethal.

"He's the man I'm marrying," Daphne said. "Goodbye, Campbell."

She pressed the red button.

The call ended.

The car was silent. The engine purred.

Charlton looked over at her. His eyes were dark, intense, and burning with something that looked like pride.

"You enjoyed that," he noted.

Daphne leaned back in the seat. A slow, genuine smile formed on her lips.

"I really did," she admitted.

Continue to next part

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Revenge Marriage: The Jilted Ballerina's Comeback

Chapter 9

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