Adeline and I had been secretly married for three years. She was eight months pregnant when she told me she wanted to give me a proper ceremony—one where we wouldn't have to hide anymore.
I believed her.
I stood on the stage that day, dressed in a tailored tuxedo, heart thudding, full of anticipation. Soft piano music played in the background. Everything had been carefully arranged. I smiled like a man who thought he had it all.
But the one walking down the aisle wasn't her. It was Daniel, her assistant.
He stormed up the stage, his expression a mixture of rage and triumph. He threw a paper at me—
A marriage certificate.
"Gavin, you shameless homewrecker," he barked. "You think getting my wife pregnant makes you her husband? Dream on."
Then he turned to the audience. "Aren't your parents supposed to be respectable? What kind of trashy homewrecker of a son did they raise?"
And there she was—Adeline—standing behind him in white. But not for me. Her eyes were cold, unreadable. When our gazes met, I felt like I'd plunged into hell.
I learned later what had really happened. She had legally married Daniel the day before what should have been our wedding. Not out of love. It was revenge—for the deaths of her childhood sweetheart and his mother.
In a single move, she destroyed me.
That night, my father collapsed in his study. The doctors said it was a heart attack brought on by stress and shame. He never got back up.
My mother slipped on the stairs during our rush to the hospital and fell into a coma from a spinal injury.
Then came the accusations. One by one, Adeline filed plagiarism reports against all my academic work. I lost my degree, my reputation, everything.
Even our child—she forced an early birth. And the media labeled him: illegitimate. A scandal.
And then... she vanished.
I saw Adeline again five years later. I'd imagined that moment countless times—her begging, me raging. But it wasn't like that.
——
"Gavin?"
That voice. Quiet, but it hit like a shock. I turned.
There she was. Adeline. Her long dress swayed around her ankles. She looked older, more composed, but just as beautiful.
Her expression faltered for a second.
But me? I felt nothing. No rage. No sorrow. Just... hollow.
"Excuse me," I said, walking past her.
She moved to block me. Awkward silence followed—until loud laughter spilled from the private room behind us.
A woman's voice, tipsy and mocking, rang out, "Even if I couldn't be with Oswald Cooper, so what? His precious son still ends up on his knees, begging me for love."
More laughter.
"You're amazing, Isabella. Oswald must've died pissed to see what his son became!"
Oswald Cooper—my father.
The voice? Isabella—my sugar mommy.
Years ago, she threw herself at my father. He rejected her. Now she got her revenge through me—his only son.
I stared at the door. The mockery inside didn't sting anymore. It was routine. I reached for the doorknob.
But Adeline shoved me aside and flung it open.
"What do we have here?" she said, voice cold. "Everyone having fun?"
The room went silent for a beat. Then laughter resumed.
Isabella stood, slightly unsteady, red lipstick smudged, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Well, well. Ms. Penna too? Want a turn with my little toy?" she slurred. "Go ahead. He's cheap—two thousand a year. That's 365 days of service, never repeats a trick. Total sex demon, that one."
Laughter erupted. Jeering, crude.
I stood there as they praised her "training." Said I was more obedient than a little girl.
Just as things turned worse, I stepped forward, smiling calmly and steadied Isabella.
"Didn't the doctor tell you to cut back on drinking?" I murmured.
Everyone turned—some shocked, some amused.
But Adeline's gaze was different. Steady. Sharp. She looked at me like she didn't recognize what I'd become.
Isabella blinked, smirk faltering for a second. Then she regained her act, sliding her fingers down my chest.
"You're late and still trying to boss me around?"
