From Jilted Bride To Ruthless Queen

On the ninety-ninth time I tried to marry the man I'd loved for twenty-five years, he stood me up at the altar. I went to the courthouse to marry a stranger out of spite, only to find out I was already married. My fiancé, Alexander, had forged the papers, wedding me to his driver to appease his mistress.

But his betrayal was more than just a lie. He locked me in a hospital morgue, forced me to kneel before her, and stood by as she had me stabbed and thrown off a cliff.

As I lay bleeding at the bottom of a ravine, I finally understood that our twenty-five years of love meant nothing. I was just an obstacle to be discarded.

But as I was about to die, a helicopter descended from the sky.

The man who came down was Case Dyer-my legal husband and Alexander's biggest rival. He saved my life, and I made a new vow.

I would fake my death, return as a queen, and burn Alexander's world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Avery Bright POV:

On the ninety-ninth time I tried to marry Alexander Holt, the man I had loved for twenty-five years, I found out I was already married-to a total stranger.

The priest, a kind man with gentle eyes that had shown increasing pity with each failed attempt, cleared his throat. "Are we ready to begin, Avery?"

I smoothed down the front of my simple white dress, the ninety-ninth one I' d bought for this occasion. The grand ballgown was packed away, a relic of the first time we were supposed to get married. Ninety-eight dresses later, I was done with extravagance. I just wanted it to be official.

"I'm ready," I said, my voice steady despite the familiar tremor in my hands. I lifted my phone. "I just need to call Alexander."

I dialed his number, the one I knew better than my own. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Avery?" His voice was rushed, distracted. I could hear the faint clatter of a keyboard in the background.

"Alex," I said, forcing a brightness I didn' t feel. "The priest is here. The chapel is waiting. Are you on your way?"

A heavy sigh on the other end. My stomach tightened into a familiar, cold knot. "Babe, I… I can' t make it today."

The excuses were always vague, always just plausible enough to make me feel insane for questioning them. "What is it this time, Alex?"

"It' s Kiara," he said, his voice dropping. "She' s… not doing well. She tried something again. I have to be there."

Kiara Dennis. My biggest fan, and my personal nightmare. The woman who was obsessed with the heroes in my graphic novels, and by extension, obsessed with the man who inspired them. The man whose tech company, Bright Star, was literally named after me.

"Alex, she does this every time," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "It' s emotional blackmail. She knows we' re getting married today."

"I know, I know, but what if this time it' s real?" he argued, the defensive edge to his tone cutting me deep. "I can' t have that on my conscience, Avery. You wouldn' t want that either."

Before I could respond, he cut me off. "Look, I have to go. The hospital just called. We' ll reschedule. I promise."

The line went dead.

I stood there, phone in my hand, the silence of the empty chapel pressing in on me. The priest' s sympathetic gaze was almost unbearable.

"Miss Bright," he began softly. "If I may be so bold… a man who truly wants to marry you wouldn' t let anything stop him, let alone ninety-nine times."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He didn' t understand. No one did. They all saw the perfect couple: Avery Bright, the successful graphic novelist from a prominent family, and Alexander Holt, the tech prodigy she' d known since kindergarten.

They didn' t know the Alexander who, at seven years old, had punched a boy twice his size for pulling my hair, then held my hand all the way home, his knuckles scraped and bleeding.

They didn' t know the Alexander who, in high school, spent every afternoon in the library with me, not because he needed to study, but because I did. He' d just sit there, a silent, steady presence while I sketched the characters that would one day make me famous.

They only knew the headlines. They remembered when another boy, a handsome football player, had asked me to prom. Alexander hadn' t just gotten jealous; he' d intercepted the boy in the hallway, his face a mask of cold fury, and warned him to stay away from me. That night, I found a hundred hand-written letters on my doorstep, each one detailing a reason why he loved me, why we belonged together. It was possessive, yes, but at seventeen, it felt like the most romantic thing in the world.

We became inseparable, the golden couple everyone envied. When he founded his company, he put my name in the sky. Bright Star Technologies. "Everything I do, Avery," he'd whispered, the night of the launch party, "is to build a world worthy of you."

I believed him. For twenty-five years, I had believed him.

Then Kiara Dennis entered our lives. It started innocently enough. Fan mail, comments on my social media. But it escalated. She somehow found our address, leaving gifts on our doorstep-gifts for Alexander. She' d show up at his office, at restaurants where we were dining. He was always polite but firm, turning her away, telling me she was just a troubled girl who saw him as one of my fictional heroes. I tried to believe him.

The real trouble began when I announced our engagement. The day the news broke, Kiara slit her wrists in the lobby of his office building.

That was the first time our wedding was postponed. He rushed from our rehearsal dinner to her hospital bedside.

Since then, it had become a pattern. A wedding date would be set. The press would catch wind of it. And like clockwork, Kiara would have a "crisis." An overdose. A car crash that was clearly intentional. Standing on the ledge of a bridge. Each time, Alexander would drop everything and run to her, leaving me standing alone at yet another altar.

My love had been whittled down to a raw nerve of pain and humiliation. This ninety-ninth time was the last straw. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't live waiting for a man who was clearly choosing someone else.

With a surge of desperate, angry energy, I grabbed my best friend Maria' s arm. "Come on," I said, my voice tight. "Let's go."

"Go where?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"The courthouse," I declared, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm done waiting. I'll just get legally married to… to anyone. I don' t care. I just need this to be over."

It was a crazy, impulsive thought, born of pure desperation. Maria, seeing the wild look in my eyes, didn't argue. She just drove.

We stormed into the county clerk' s office. I slammed my ID on the counter. "I want a marriage license," I announced to the bored-looking woman behind the glass.

She took my ID, typed my name into her computer, and then frowned. She typed it again.

"Ma'am," she said, looking up at me over her glasses. "I can't issue you a marriage license. You're already married."

The world tilted on its axis. "What? That's impossible."

She turned her monitor towards me. And there it was, in black and white.

Spouse: Case Dyer.

The name meant nothing to me. A complete stranger. The date of the marriage was three months ago.

My mind reeled, scrambling for an explanation. Then, a memory surfaced, cold and sharp. Alexander, a few months back, asking for my ID and social security card. "It' s for the mortgage on the new beach house, babe," he' d said casually. "Just need to add your name to the deed."

Like a fool, I' d handed them over without a second thought.

The betrayal was so immense, so audacious, it felt like a physical blow. He hadn' t just postponed our wedding; he had legally bound me to someone else. To his driver. I remembered the name now, from a brief introduction a few weeks ago. The new guy. Case Dyer.

"Avery? Avery, what's wrong?" Maria' s voice was a distant buzz.

I pushed away from the counter, stumbling back. I had to find Alexander. I had to hear him say it to my face.

I drove to his office, but his assistant told me he wasn't there. "Mr. Holt is at the Serenity Wellness Center, Miss Bright. Miss Dennis had another episode."

Of course.

I raced to the private medical facility, my rage a hot, burning thing in my chest. A nurse at the front desk tried to stop me, telling me it was a private wing, but I pushed past her, following the sound of Alexander' s voice.

I stopped dead in the hallway, hidden by a large potted plant. Through the gap in a slightly ajar door, I saw him.

Kiara was in a hospital bed, looking pale and fragile. Alexander was sitting beside her, holding her hand. He leaned forward and gently, so gently, brushed a stray piece of hair from her forehead. The look on his face… it was the same tender, protective look he used to give me.

I saw him lift her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, his movements filled with a care that I hadn't felt from him in years. The memory of him doing the same for me when I broke my ankle in college felt like a lifetime ago.

Two nurses walked by, whispering. "Mr. Holt is so devoted to her. He' s here every time she has a scare. True love, you know?"

The words were like acid.

Then, I heard his friend, Mark, speaking from inside the room. "Alex, are you ever going to tell Avery the truth? This is getting out of control."

Alexander' s reply shattered the last fragments of my heart.

"What' s to tell?" he said, his voice cold and detached. "Avery and I… it' s been twenty-five years. It' s comfortable, it' s familiar, but it' s not… this." He looked down at Kiara, his voice softening. "Kiara needs me. Her love is all-consuming. It' s real. Avery' s love is just… habit."

"So what' s the plan, man?" Mark pressed. "You legally married her off to your driver. You can' t keep that a secret forever."

"It' s a temporary solution to placate Kiara," Alexander said dismissively. "She can' t handle the thought of me marrying Avery. So, technically, I didn' t. Once Kiara is stable, I' ll have the marriage with Dyer annulled, and I' ll break things off with Avery. It' s cleaner this way. For the wedding she thinks we're still having, I'll just get a fake certificate made. She'll never know the difference until I'm ready."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My legs gave out, and I sagged against the wall, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob.

Fake. He was going to give me a fake marriage certificate. After ninety-nine attempts. After twenty-five years. I was something to be managed, placated with a lie, and then discarded.

Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled away, his words echoing in my ears. He didn't love me. Maybe he never had.

I got in my car, my body shaking uncontrollably. My entire life, my entire identity, had been built around my love for him. And it was all a lie.

But as the tears subsided, a cold, hard fury began to crystallize in their place. My pride, the one thing the Bright family had instilled in me above all else, roared to life. I would not be a victim. I would not be discarded.

My hand stopped shaking. I picked up my phone, my fingers moving with a new, chilling purpose. I found the contact for his new driver in my recent calls list-the man Alexander had forced me to marry.

Case Dyer.

I pressed the call button.

He answered on the first ring. His voice was low, calm, and unexpectedly deep. "Miss Bright?"

"It's Avery Dyer now, isn't it?" I said, my own voice sounding foreign and sharp to my ears. "My husband told me to get a fake certificate, but I think I' d prefer the real one. I have a proposal for you, Mr. Dyer. Let' s make this marriage real."

There was a pause on the other end. Ten days. He said he needed ten days. I agreed.

Hanging up, I looked back at the cold, sterile building where the man I thought I knew was coddling his new love. The love story I had written for twenty-five years was over.

Alexander Holt, you have no idea who you just threw away.