The Broken Bride's Revenge

"Missed out on a billionaire. Regretting it now, aren't you?" My former best friend slammed a martini down in front of me. The clear liquid splashed onto the hem of my silk dress.

Around us, the crowd looked at me like I was some idiot who'd just blown a tenmilliondollar jackpot. Tristan. My first love. Now a toptier billionaire tycoon.

Everyone was mocking my bad luck, convinced I'd lost everything in this breakup. They didn't know I once gripped the corner of his jacket, begging him with everything I had.

He just disgustedly tugged back his crumpled bespoke suit jacket, looking down at me as I collapsed into the mud.

He spat out a single, freezing word: "Get lost." I picked up the glass and took a slow sip, my gaze cold. Trash relationships like that? I'd tossed them out a long time ago.

Chapter 1 At the alumni reunion, former classmates swarmed Tristan, their voices thick with flattery. "Old friend, I've been dabbling in the construction business lately.

I was hoping you could look out for me." "Tristan, you're the idol of our whole circle now. It's rare to see you—come on, let me buy you a drink." "Exactly!

Usually, we'd need an appointment months in advance just to catch a glimpse of you. You're not getting away today!

Drink up!" Facing those flattering cheers, Tristan just leaned back against the leather sofa.

He dismissively swirled the whiskey in his hand, the glass never even touching his lips. But no one dared complain. Tristan wasn't the penniless student he used to be.

He sat on nearly ten billion in assets. His company occupied a massive tower in the city center, mountains behind it and the ocean in front. Everyone was green with envy.

Glasses clinked and laughter filled the air. I sat in the shadows of the corner, focused on my phone. Suddenly, someone shouted my way, "Harlow, don't just stare at your phone!

You and Tristan used to be so close. Why don't you come over and say a few words?" The person next to him nudged him hard. "Read the room! Vanessa is sitting right next to Tristan.

Harlow is ancient history." At that, every pair of eyes in the room shifted between me, Tristan, and Vanessa. I looked at Tristan, who occupied the seat of honor.

He was looking back at me. We shared a silent stare. Neither of us spoke first. Even though, once upon a time, we'd talked about everything. Tristan and I were neighbors.

We grew up together on the same block. Even as a child, I knew the boy next door was always being beaten by his father.

His mother had long since fled, unable to bear the terror, leaving him to endure the full fury of a violent man alone.

My mom felt sorry for him and often had me bring him food or pull him outside to play so he'd face fewer beatings.

Tristan ignored me at first, but I was like a little koala, clinging to him and refusing to let go. Over time, he slowly began to respond.

In elementary school, a classmate loved to yank my hair. He pulled so hard it burned. I broke into loud, messy sobs.

Chapter 2 Tristan found out and dragged that kid out, beating him black and blue. He took a few vicious punches himself, blood staining his collar.

But watching that bully wail even louder than I ever did, I looked at Tristan like he was a superhero. "You're so tough!" A furious blush crept up Tristan's cheeks. "Whatever.

He touches you again, you tell me." I carved those words into my memory. So did he. He became my safety net. I'd sprint to his classroom just to whisper secrets through the window.

First straight A's, my first period, the first love letter stuffed in my locker, straight through to the suffocating panic of SATs and college apps.

He shielded me, fixing my messes and standing between me and the world, just like he always had. When did the silence creep in? Probably the second Vanessa showed up.

Tristan and Vanessa shared the same major, drowning in inside jokes and study groups I couldn't crack. I went from having his entire world to getting the leftover scraps.

The reunion roared on around me. A couple of guys I barely remembered decided I was their new entertainment. "Come on, Harlow, give us a speech!

Not every day we get the whole crew together." "Yeah, loosen up! Wait—why are you staring at Tristan?

Don't tell me you're still carrying a torch for the billionaire?" Hands grabbed my arms, hauling me up and shoving me directly into Tristan's space. I stumbled.

Tristan's large hand clamped onto the small of my back. The scorching heat of his palm burned straight through my silk dress.

A heartbeat later, he released me with deliberate restraint, stepping back just enough to leave a suffocating, possessive gap between us.

Dozens of eyes burned into my skin. "Tristan and I are dead and buried," I stated, my voice flat. "I'm married." The muscles in Tristan's jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid.

A dead silence swallowed the room. But the vultures recovered fast. Nobody wanted to let their favorite punchline go. That's what I was.

Years postgrad, they were all stacking cash and building empires.

A socalled failure like me was just free entertainment. "Quit the bullshit, you don't even look married." "Look, we get you're trying to save face, but you can't just invent a husband." "For real." "I am married," I repeated.

My thumb mindlessly traced the understated, plain platinum band on my left ring finger.

Nathaniel had customordered it just for everyday wear, knowing a massive, flashy diamond would only stress me out. They weren't buying it. "Look at you.

If you're married, where's the husband?" "Yeah, where is he?" I paused for a second. "He's tied up at work. He can't make it right now." No one believed me.

Even Tristan's rigid shoulders relaxed a fraction. Someone opened their mouth to keep digging, but Vanessa laughed and cut them off. "Alright, alright.

Let's not pry into her personal life. Drink up! Who knows when we'll all be in the same room again." Vanessa had weight in this circle now.

With her speaking up, the wolves finally backed off. Twilight hit, and the crowd thinned out. Soon, the sprawling room was empty, leaving only me, Tristan, and Vanessa.

Tristan didn't even glance at Vanessa. He pivoted and stalked directly toward me. Every time his polished dress shoes advanced a step, my heels scraped backward.

He halted, his eyes narrowing. "Terrified of me?" he mocked. "Get in the car. I'm taking you home." I crossed my arms. "Hard pass.

My ride is already on the way." A dark shadow crossed Tristan's face.

His gaze dropped to my left hand. "The imaginary husband?" "No." Chapter 3 Vanessa apparently couldn't take the waiting anymore.

She stepped right up, threading her arm intimately through Tristan's. "Harlow, just let Tristan give you a ride.

We don't have anywhere to be, so it's not like you're putting us out." I shook my head, my voice flat. "My ride is on the way. Go ahead without me." Tristan's patience snapped.

He ripped his arm out of Vanessa's grip and lunged, his fingers locking around my wrist like a steel vise, trying to physically drag me away.

Before I could figure out how to break his hold, salvation rolled up. A sleek, pitchblack Maybach slid to a halt at the bottom of the steps, its hazard lights pulsing in the gloom.

The legendary executive had finally arrived. The rear door popped open. Cameron, clad in a sharp bespoke suit, vaulted up the steps under a massive black umbrella.

He tilted the canopy over me, letting the freezing rain drench his own shoulder. Cameron stopped inches away, his voice dropping into a respectful murmur. "Ms. Harlow?" I nodded.

A visible breath of relief left him. "Please, get in. I'm taking you home." His eyes flicked to Tristan. Tristan glared back.

But Cameron completely dismissed the billionaire, offering nothing but a curt, icy nod of acknowledgment.

Using the distraction, I wrenched my wrist out of Tristan's frozen grip and slid into the leatherscented sanctuary of the Maybach. Honestly, Cameron and I weren't exactly tight.

I was terrible at playing the highsociety networking game, so I just sat there in the back seat like a mannequin.

But Cameron smoothly filled the silence. "We only had a brief runin last time in London. You probably don't remember me." "I remember," I replied. "Cameron.

Executive VP of SHEL Group's Americas Division. Nathaniel told me you're brilliant." "Nathaniel is too generous.

My resume is a footnote compared to his." He offered a warm smile in the rearview mirror. "Since you're finally back in the States, Mr. BossMan gave strict orders.

Whatever you need, you call me." "Got it. Thank you." Flying back stateside wasn't just about enduring some high school reunion. The real reason was seeing my parents.

It had been six agonizing months since I'd last seen them.

Cameron was about to walk me up to their porch, but seeing my mom and dad already shivering out by the front door, he discreetly pulled the Maybach away.

I stared at my parents in the porch light. They looked older. More fragile than I remembered. I forced the brightest, most cheerful tone I could muster. "Mom! Dad!

I'm back!" I looped one arm through my dad's, the other through my mom's, letting their tearful, repeated "Thank God you're home" wash over me as I finally stepped back into the house I'd abandoned six years ago.

Inside, the dining table groaned under the weight of all my favorite childhood meals—pot roast, mashed potatoes, the works.

I instinctively moved toward the kitchen drawer to grab the silverware, just like the old days. But the forks and knives were already perfectly set.

A sudden lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard, the sharp sting of unshed tears burning my eyes.

It had been way too long since I felt this kind of unconditional safety with my family. My parents knew about the reunion.

My mom hovered around the table, phrasing her words carefully. "Did you have fun tonight, sweetie?

You didn't run into… anyone unpleasant, did you?" I knew exactly who she was tiptoeing around. Tristan.

Seeing them walk on eggshells just to protect my feelings somehow made the whole Tristan drama feel entirely insignificant. "I saw Tristan," I said casually, taking a seat. "He's with Vanessa now.

Honestly, they deserve each other." My mom let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders dropping. "That boy… He used to be so attached to you.

You two were joined at the hip since preschool." "Well… whatever.

We're not ruining dinner over him." She quickly pivoted, asking about my life over in London. "Everything is great," I assured her, offering a genuine smile. "I'm officially off the meds.

Dr. Miriam said I only need to check in for a followup next month." Chapter 4 When I first fled to London, my depression was crippling. I spent six agonizing years in Dr.

Miriam's private clinic. It wasn't until last week that Dr. Miriam finally reviewed my latest evaluations and declared my baselines stable.

As long as I kept my stress levels down, I was officially cleared to reenter normal life. My parents beamed, the tight lines around their eyes finally relaxing.

And why wouldn't they? It was my illness, but the devastation had suffocated all three of us. Wait, no. All four of us. Nathaniel. I'd dragged him through hell and back, too.

Thank God none of us had to walk on eggshells anymore. I used to have a solid group of girlfriends back in college. But six years is a lifetime.

I had zero idea how to track them down now. Honestly, I only dragged myself to that reunion hoping they'd show up.

But it was like they'd coordinated a boycott—not a single one of them was there. With no job to anchor me, I spent my first few days drifting aimlessly around the city.

After a week of killing time, the boredom was making my skin crawl, so I signed up as a weekend volunteer at the local history museum.

It was easy enough—snapping promo photos, pointing tourists toward the restrooms.

When Tristan showed up, I was backstage in a makeshift dressing room, having just wrestled myself into a replica Victorian gown and currently fighting a losing battle with a necklace.

There were no mirrors. I caught a blurry reflection of the dress in the windowpane, decided it was acceptable, and went back to fumbling with the tiny clasp at the nape of my neck.

A sharp, familiar scent of cold cedar and musk suddenly crowded my space. A pair of hands reached over my shoulders, taking the ends of the necklace from me.

Long, calloused fingers brushed agonizingly lightly against the sensitive skin of my nape. Click. The metal clasp locked into place. I spun around.

The words "thank you" died on my tongue before they even formed. Tristan. Tristan's gaze swept over the heavy velvet gown.

The tight knot between his eyebrows relaxed slightly. "You look beautiful," he murmured. "You're volunteering here?" "Yeah." "Then show me around?

I'm heading to Wing B." "I'll grab a coworker for you," I said coldly. "I'm supposed to be shooting a promo set." Tristan gave a curt nod. "Take your time.

I'll wait." With him planting himself there like an immovable object, all I could do was bolt out to the courtyard plaza and leave him standing there. He didn't leave.

Even from a distance, I could feel the weight of his stare burning into me throughout the entire photo shoot.

If this were six years ago, him watching me like that would have turned my knees to jelly. I'd be a blushing, stammering wreck, incapable of posing for a camera. But now?

Now, I just naturally broke eye contact, focusing on the photographer's lens. We both had completely new lives now. Why couldn't we just treat each other like we were dead?

Clearly, neither of us knew how to play the role of the 'good ex'. Sophomore year of college. That was when Tristan and I made it official. He was the one who cracked first.

I'd gotten a confession from some random guy on campus, and word somehow got back to Tristan.

He'd sprinted all the way to my dorm, panic radiating off him, demanding to know if I'd accepted. I just shrugged. "No.

I don't even know who the guy is." Tristan expelled a massive breath, his entire body deflating. He looked at me, dead serious. "Good. Those random guys are garbage.

If you're going to date anyone… date me. Got it?" "Got it," I'd said. But he hadn't left right away. Chapter 5 He stood there for a beat, visibly gathering his courage.

Then, with awkward stiffness, he muttered, "So… do you want to date now?" "Right now?" Honestly, I hadn't been looking for a relationship.

But if it was Tristan, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

I shuffled a step closer, tilting my head with a smile. "Sure." Looking back, something that started so easily was just as easy to shatter.

People rarely treasure what they don't have to fight for.

If he had asked me out with a massive bouquet under string lights on the football field, surrounded by a cheering crowd of our friends… would things have ended differently?

It was too late for "what ifs." We were already dead in the water. When the promo shoot finally wrapped, Tristan was rooted to the exact same spot.

His gaze hadn't wavered from me once.

Seeing me finish, he motioned me over. "You came alone?" I asked, walking up. "Where's Vanessa?" His brows knitted in genuine confusion. "I'm at a museum.

What does she have to do with anything?" "Aren't you two together?

I figured you came as a package deal." "Who told you we were together?" A smirk ghosted across his lips. "Are you… jealous?" Before I could shoot that down, his smile widened. "We're not together.

At the reunion, I just happened to run into her on the street beforehand." "That's it. Come on, take me to Wing B." Seeing he was done talking about Vanessa, I led the way.

As we walked, he suddenly pivoted the conversation. "That guy Cameron who picked you up… how do you know him?" I debated for a second before handing him the flat truth. "We're not close.

He just knows my husband. My husband is out on a business trip in Switzerland, so he asked Cameron to—" I trailed off. Tristan had stopped dead in his tracks two paces behind me.

I glanced back. "What's wrong?" The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray.

His lips parted and closed several times before a hoarse sound finally scraped out of his throat. "Your… husband?" "Yes." "What husband?" he rasped, the word tearing out of him like it physically hurt.

It hit me then. When I said I was married at the reunion, no one in that room had believed a word of it. Did I really look that unattached?

I stared blankly at his expression—he looked exactly like a man who'd just been brutally betrayed.

My voice was devoid of any inflection. "Tristan, I am actually married." A grotesque, fractured smile twisted his features. "If you're just using a fake marriage as an excuse to push me away, you…" I reached up.

My index finger hooked the delicate chain resting against my collarbone—the exact same necklace he had fastened for me moments ago.

Sliding freely on the pure gold links was a flawlessly cut, blinding diamond ring. "This is my wedding ring," I stated smoothly. "I was terrified of losing it, so I keep it on this chain.

I wasn't lying to you, Tristan. And I wasn't trying to save face at the reunion." A dead leaf caught in the cold wind, spiraling down to land directly at my boots.

An eternity passed before he finally choked out a robotic, hollow whisper. "…When?" "Not long ago." Specifically, last month.

But I had zero obligation to spoonfeed him the intimate details of my personal life. "Not long ago…" Tristan swayed, his imposing frame suddenly looking like it couldn't support its own weight. "Harlow, do you even know?

Vanessa isn't my girlfriend." "She never was, and she never will be. I know she's obsessed with me, but I never gave her the time of day.

Do you know why?" I kept my eyes locked on him, offering absolute silence.

He forced the words out, each syllable drenched in a suffocating agony. "Because I was waiting for you to come home." Chapter 6 "Harlow, I waited six years for you, and you got married?" He lunged forward, closing the distance in a single step.

His eyes were bloodshot, rims stark red.

His large hands clamped down on my shoulders with a crushing grip, his voice shattering. "How dare you… how dare you stand here wearing his ring when you belong to someone else?" I stared at the cracked pavement.

It took a long moment before I forced the words out. "I didn't know you were waiting.

Didn't you tell me to leave?" I glanced around at the passing tourists, dropping my voice to a whisper only he could catch. "Besides… weren't you disgusted by me?" "No!" The denial ripped out of his throat. "How could I ever be disgusted by you?

I just… my head was a massive wreck back then." "I thought you only got hurt because you were tricked into looking for me. Looking at you just suffocated me with guilt.

The breakup was a lie. I was just… I just couldn't think straight…" "I never wanted to leave you… never