Marrying The Disguised Tycoon For Sweet Revenge

A sharp pain lanced through Kristy Hill's skull.

The smell hit her first—a thick, metallic scent of blood mixed with the sour tang of spilled champagne. It clogged her nostrils, a suffocating blanket.

She forced her eyes open.

The world slowly swam into focus, resolving into a blur of opulent gold and crimson. A crystal flute lay shattered across the Persian rug, its jagged fragments glittering like furious diamonds amid a spreading pool of dark red wine.

Her gaze followed the liquid trail.

It led to a man in a bespoke suit, slumped beside the sofa. A delicate, silver-handled fruit knife was buried to the hilt in his chest. His white shirt was stained a horrifying, blossoming red.

A cold dread, sharp and absolute, seized her.

Her head snapped downward. Her own hands. She was clutching the knife’s empty leather sheath, her knuckles bleached white from the force of her grip. Splashes of blood stained the bodice of her white evening gown, scattered across the pristine fabric like a grotesque constellation.

She tried to remember.

Nothing.

Her mind was a complete blank, an impenetrable black hole. The last thing she could recall had happened hours ago. Her cousin and best friend, Felice Velazquez, had handed her a glass of champagne. A toast. To celebrate her engagement to Caden Sharpe.

"No," she whispered, the word a dry rasp in her throat.

Her fingers loosened, and the sheath slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the floor.

The suite door clicked open.

Her fiancé, Caden, walked in, Felice on his arm.

Felice saw the scene and let out a theatrical shriek, pressing herself against Caden's side as if for protection.

All color drained from Caden's face. His eyes fixed on the body. "Grandfather!" he choked out, his voice trembling.

Then his gaze, full of disbelief and accusation, locked onto Kristy.

"Caden, listen to me," Kristy pleaded, scrambling towards him. "I don't know what happened! I woke up and he was... he was already like this!"

She reached for his arm, but he recoiled, shoving her away with a look of pure disgust.

"Don't touch me!" His voice was ice. "Kristy, how could you? He was my grandfather!"

He wouldn't even look at her.

Felice stepped forward, her expression a mask of concern. She placed a gentle hand on Kristy's arm. "Kristy, don't be scared. Just tell the police what happened. Maybe it was an accident."

Her words were poison, each one a subtle confirmation of guilt.

From the street below, a distant siren began to wail, growing closer, louder, sealing the room, erasing any chance of a private explanation.

Minutes later, the door burst open. NYPD officers flooded into the suite, moving swiftly and with detached efficiency. One of them approached Kristy, who was shaking uncontrollably, and snapped a pair of cold metal handcuffs around her wrists.

"Caden! Please!" she cried out as they led her away. "You have to believe me! I was framed!"

He didn't answer. He simply turned his back, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and meticulously wiped the hand that had pushed her, as if her touch had been filth.

As two officers escorted her down the long, gilded hallway, she saw Felice trailing behind them. Just before they reached the elevator, Felice quickened her pace, leaning in close to Kristy's ear.

Her voice was a soft, triumphant whisper, meant only for her. "He didn't like you. And Caden is mine now."

Kristy's blood ran cold. She stared, horrified, at the innocent, smiling face of the girl she had trusted like a sister.

Felice's smile widened, her eyes glittering with pure malice. "Oh, and the drug in your champagne? My little graduation gift to you, cousin."

She savored the shock on Kristy's face.

"Enjoy your new life."

The elevator doors slid shut, separating Kristy from that venomous, triumphant face. She felt as though all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. All the screams and denials were stuck in her throat, leaving her frozen in an endless chill.

The interrogation room was stark white and freezing. A single bulb glared down on the metal table.

"I'm telling you, I was drugged," Kristy repeated, her voice hoarse. "My cousin, Felice Velazquez, she admitted it to me."

Detective Miller, a man with tired eyes and a permanent frown, didn't even look up from his file. "Ms. Hill, your fingerprints are on the sheath. You have motive-Mr. Conrad Sharpe was against your engagement. And your 'cousin' has a solid alibi. She was at a charity event with Mr. Caden Sharpe."

"Your fiancé's testimony doesn't help you either," Miller added, flipping a page. "He said you were drinking heavily and were upset about his grandfather's disapproval."

Every word was a nail in her coffin.

"I want my lawyer," she managed to say.

Another officer entered the room. "Detective, we just got a call from her family's lawyer," he said. "The Hill family will not be representing her."

Her father, her stepmother... they had all abandoned her.

Kristy slowly lifted her head. The white walls of the room seemed to glow with a bloody light. She stared at the one-way mirror, imagining Felice and Caden on the other side, laughing.