To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival

Adelaide POV

The private salon on the top floor of the couturier’s building was quieter than a church and twice as intimidating. Thick cream carpets swallowed the sound of our footsteps, and the air smelled of expensive lilies and old money. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Fifth Avenue was a chaotic river of yellow cabs, but in here, the world was hermetically sealed.

I sat on a velvet settee, my hand resting on a black display tray. A jeweler with white gloves was presenting a diamond ring—a solitaire so large it looked like a chunk of ice chipped straight from a glacier. It was meant to replace the heavy family signet Damien had forced onto my finger, a more "appropriate" symbol for public consumption.

"It’s flawless, *Signora*," the jeweler murmured, his eyes lowered respectfully.

Gracelyn leaned over my shoulder, inspecting the stone. "It’s decent. A bit small for a Maddox, but it has good clarity."

I felt like a doll being dressed for a play I didn't audition for. "It's fine," I whispered.

The heavy double doors at the entrance of the salon burst open, slamming against the walls with a violence that shattered the hushed atmosphere.

I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat.

Andrew Hebert stood in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, his face flushed with a manic, sweaty sheen that clashed with his tailored suit. He looked wild, desperate—a man unraveling at the seams.

"I knew it," he hissed, his eyes locking onto me instantly.

"Sir, you cannot be in here," a store clerk protested, rushing after him.

Andrew shoved the man aside without looking at him. He marched toward me, his breathing ragged. "You blocked my number? You think you can just ignore me, Adelaide?"

I stood up, my legs trembling, but Gracelyn was faster. She stepped between us, her posture shifting from bored socialite to dangerous predator in a heartbeat.

"Get out, Andrew," Gracelyn said, her voice dropping to a chilling, flat tone I’d never heard her use before. "Before I have you removed in pieces."

Andrew didn't even look at her. He reached around her, his fingers clamping around my upper arm like a vice. Pain shot through my bicep, familiar and terrifying. He yanked me forward, his gaze dropping to my left hand.

"What is this?" He stared at the diamond, his lip curling. "Playing dress-up? You think putting on his jewelry makes you one of them? You’re nothing but a Hebert charity case, Adelaide. You belong to *us*."

"Let go of me," I gasped, trying to pry his fingers loose.

"You’re coming home," he snarled, tightening his grip until I whimpered. "Before you embarrass yourself further. You think a man like Damien Maddox keeps pets? He’ll break you and toss you aside when he’s bored. I’m the only one who—"

"I said let her go!" Gracelyn shouted, grabbing his wrist. "Or I swear to God, you’ll regret having hands."

"Shut up, you spoiled brat!" Andrew raised his free hand, his eyes wild with rage.

Time seemed to slow. I saw the violence in his eyes, the same look he’d had the night he sold me out to save his own skin. He thought I was still his victim. He thought I was still Adelaide Rice, the orphan with nowhere to go.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't courage; it was the cold, hard realization that the only way to survive a monster was to summon a bigger one.

I wrenched my arm back with a strength that surprised us both.

"No, Andrew," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to cut through the room. "You’re wrong."

He blinked, stunned by my resistance. "What?"

"The charity case is gone," I said, stepping back, holding my left hand up so the diamond caught the light. "And that law doesn't apply to me anymore."

"You're delusional," he spat. "You're a Rice. You're nobody."

I looked him dead in the eye, channeling every ounce of the icy dread Damien instilled in me. "I am married, Andrew. I am Mrs. Maddox."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Andrew’s face went slack, the color draining from his skin until he looked like a corpse. Beside me, I heard Gracelyn suck in a sharp breath, her head whipping around to stare at me, her eyes wide with shock and a dawning, electric realization.

"You..." Andrew stammered, taking a step back. "You... married him?"

"Yes," I lied—or told the truth, depending on how you defined a marriage forged in blood. "So if you touch me again, you aren't touching a Hebert asset. You are touching the wife of the Capo dei Capi."

Fear, raw and primal, flooded Andrew’s eyes. But humiliation is a volatile fuel. His shock turned into a snarl of pure hatred. He lunged at me, his hand raised to strike. "You lying wh—"

He never finished the word.

Two men in dark suits materialized from the shadows of the salon as if they had been woven from the carpet itself. They didn't speak. They moved with terrifying efficiency. One seized Andrew’s raised arm, twisting it behind his back with a sickening *pop*, while the other kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to the floor.

Andrew screamed, his face pressed against the plush cream carpet.

The store manager stepped forward, adjusting his cuffs. He didn't even look at Andrew. He bowed his head slightly to me. "My apologies, Mrs. Maddox. We will handle the trash."

"Get off me!" Andrew shrieked, thrashing as the soldiers hauled him up like a sack of grain. He twisted his head to look at me, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. "You think this is over? I’ll kill him! I’ll burn everything he owns! I swear it, Adelaide! You’ll come crawling back to me!"

His threats echoed off the high ceilings, pathetic and hollow, as the soldiers dragged him toward the service elevator.

"Make sure he leaves," the manager said to the guards, his voice bored. Then he turned to me, his face pale but composed. "Mr. Maddox will be informed immediately. Effective this moment, the Hebert family is barred from all Maddox-held properties in the city."

I stood there, rubbing the red marks on my arm, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The threat was gone, but the cage had just become very, very real.

I looked at Gracelyn. She was staring at me, her mouth slightly open, processing the bomb I had just dropped.

"Mrs. Maddox?" she whispered, the shock in her voice slowly giving way to something else.

I swallowed hard, the adrenaline fading into nausea. "Gracelyn, I—"

"We should go," she interrupted, her tone unreadable. She grabbed her purse and turned toward the exit. "The car is waiting."