At my wedding, the massive screen suddenly displayed photos of me in bed with Sebastian Gilbert's sworn enemy.
Before I could react, Sebastian had already handled the chaos with chilling efficiency, then calmly walked me through the rest of the ceremony as if nothing had happened.
When the banquet finally ended and I tried to explain, I found him pinning my stepsister to our marriage bed, taking her with savage abandon.
My screams and tears earned me nothing but his dismissive reply:
"What's this? A slut like you putting on a devoted wife act for me?"
After that night, Sebastian showered Narelle Harding with affection—mansions, jewelry, gifts beyond counting.
They paraded their love everywhere, turning me, Mrs. Gilbert, into the laughingstock of Capital City.
For three years I fought to win him back. It took a doctor handing me miscarriage papers to finally wake me up.
If love was already dead, why was I still clinging to its corpse?
——
As the doctor delivered the news, nurses' voices drifted in from the hallway, dripping with envy:
"Mr. Gilbert loves Ms. Harding so much! She just had a little scare, and he walked away from a billion-dollar contract without blinking—stayed by her side the whole time. Her room is overflowing with gifts and supplements. I just saw him spoon-feeding her porridge himself!"
"That's so sweet! This is what real love looks like when a man has power. But wait—isn't Mr. Gilbert married?"
"Oh, you mean that notorious slut? She cheated before the wedding. Damaged goods. Mr. Gilbert's just too kind, letting her keep the title. As if someone like her deserves to be called Mrs. Gilbert."
Slut.
The word dragged me back to my wedding night, when Sebastian had spat it at me with the same contempt.
I'd walked into the bedroom still wearing my gown, words of explanation ready on my lips—and froze.
Two pale bodies tangled on our marriage bed.
The moment I recognized Sebastian and Narelle, something inside me snapped. I grabbed everything within reach and hurled it at them, screaming.
Sebastian shielded her with his body. Dressed her with gentle hands. Called a car and sent her away with tender care.
Only then did he look at me.
I was shattered, sobbing, demanding to know why.
He flicked ash from his cigarette, utterly unmoved.
"Joy Harding, the devoted-wife act really doesn't suit a slut like you."
I cried until I retched. "Sebastian, you can't do this to me! And why her of all people?"
"You know—you know—it was Narelle and her mistress mother who drove my mom to suicide!"
Something flickered in his eyes. Then they went red.
His foot slammed into the table, sending it crashing.
"Joy, so you do know how that feels?"
"I put you on a fucking pedestal. All these years, I held back—never touched you before the wedding no matter how badly I wanted to, terrified of scaring you. And you turned around and crawled into bed with Hubert Sanchez?"
"What the hell am I to you?"
The photo. Of course.
The day before the wedding, Hubert and I had both been drugged. We woke up in the same bed.
I'd gotten examined immediately. Between the test results and both our memories before blacking out, we'd confirmed nothing happened.
I'd planned to explain everything to Sebastian after the ceremony. I never imagined someone would display that damning photo at the wedding itself.
The pain crushed my chest. All I could do was sob out the truth:
"I don't know why Hubert and I were set up, but nothing happened between us! Nothing!"
Sebastian's laugh was ice.
"Joy. Do you really think I'd believe you?"
I looked up at him, tears streaming.
"If you don't believe me—then why go through with the wedding? Why marry me at all?"
