Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy

I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.

Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.

"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."

I froze.

My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.

He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."

I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.

Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.

He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.

Then, he pushed me off the edge.

As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.

I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.

"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."

He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.

But he forgot that I knew his secrets.

I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.

"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt."

Chapter 1

Kenia Hayes POV

I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, my hands trembling with the terrifying, fragile joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction, when the intercom buzzed with a voice that splintered my world.

"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her, Estella. It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe."

The bathroom tiles seeped cold against my bare feet.

I let the test slip from my numb fingers.

It clattered against the porcelain sink, sounding like a gunshot in the oppressive silence of the penthouse.

Holden Dalton.

The man who had courted me for three years.

The man who ruled the city's ports and police precincts with a smile that could disarm a saint.

He was in the study next door, arrogant enough to be careless, unaware that the intercom system was live.

I heard a woman’s laugh.

It was sharp, like breaking glass.

Estella Duncan.

The daughter of the rival Capo.

"You're terrible, Holden," she purred. "She's been planning the wedding for months. I saw the dress she designed. It’s pathetic."

"It’s not a wedding, Estella. It’s the punchline to a three-year joke," Holden replied, his voice dripping with an arrogance that made my stomach turn. "I needed a clean image to secure the port deal. A sweet, innocent civilian on my arm made the Commission trust me. Now that the deal is signed, I can dump the stray and marry the Queen."

I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Kenia Hayes.

The Caged Canary.

That’s what the tabloids called me.

I placed a hand on my flat stomach.

A Dalton heir.

A child born of a lie.

If I told him, he would lock me away.

He would turn me into a broodmare for a legacy built on blood and deception.

I wouldn't let a monster raise a child.

I wouldn't bring a life into a world where love was just a strategic maneuver.

I walked out of the bathroom.

I didn't pack a bag.

I didn't scream.

I walked straight to the safe in the closet.

I took out the drafted separation agreement I had prepared weeks ago when I first suspected his infidelity, but never had the courage to sign.

I signed them now.

The ink was black and permanent.

Then I took the wedding dress.

It was silk and lace, hand-stitched with pearls I had saved up for years to buy.

I shoved it into a box.

I grabbed a marker and scrawled Estella's address on the front.

I left the box on the bed.

I walked out of the penthouse, past the guards who nodded at me, thinking I was just going to the market.

I took a cab to the clinic on the Lower East Side.

The doctor asked me if I was sure.

I looked at the sonogram, a tiny speck of potential misery.

"I'm sure," I said.

My voice didn't shake.

When I walked out an hour later, I felt hollowed out.

Empty.

But for the first time in three years, I was free.

I checked my phone.

A text from Holden.

*Dinner at 8. Wear the red dress. I have a surprise.*

I typed back.

*I know about the bet. Check your bed.*

I threw the phone into the nearest trash can and disappeared into the gray city rain.