I used to think heartbreak was something you felt slowly like a crack in glass that spread over time.
Tonight, I learned it could happen in an instant.
It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. The chandeliers in the Grand Marcellus Hotel glittered like a thousand frozen stars, champagne flowed like golden rivers, and everyone I loved was gathered under one roof. My fiancé, Gregory James, had promised me forever. My best friend, Harper, had sworn she would stand beside me in my wedding gown.
But forever lasted until 8:47 p.m.
And Harper was already standing beside him.
I hadn't been looking for them. I'd only stepped away from the ballroom to take a breath. The press was swarming the engagement, snapping photos, and my cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. I told Gregory I was going to the powder room. I wasn't even suspicious—why would I be?
Until I pushed open the door to one of the private lounges and saw him.
Saw them.
Gregory's hands were tangled in Harper's hair. Her arms were locked around his neck. And his mouth—his perfect, lying mouth—was pressed to hers like he'd been dying for the taste all night.
For a second, I froze. The scene didn't fit into my reality. It was like watching a film in slow motion, waiting for someone to yell "Cut!" so I could wake up. But no one did.
They didn't even notice me at first. It wasn't until Gregory's hand slid down her back and I made a sound—half gasp, half choking sob—that they broke apart.
"Elara—" His voice cracked. He looked like he'd been caught stealing oxygen.
Harper's eyes went wide, her lipstick smeared across her mouth like a crime scene. "It's not—"
"Don't," I said. My voice was low, cold, and nothing like me. "Don't even try."
Gregory took a step toward me, and the sheer audacity made my stomach twist. "I can explain—"
"You were kissing my maid of honor," I snapped, my voice slicing through the air. "At our engagement party. What could you possibly explain? The angle? The lighting?"
Harper flinched. Gregory's jaw tightened. "It was a mistake—"
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Oh, so you tripped and fell into her mouth?"
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs were trying to cage it in. I didn't wait for him to answer. I turned on my heel and walked out, my heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor. I could feel their eyes on my back, hear the muffled whispers of guests as I passed, but I didn't care. If I stayed another second, I'd break.
The flash of cameras hit me the moment I reentered the ballroom. Questions swarmed—
"Elara, where's Gregory?"
"Is it true you're fighting?"
"Smile for the camera!"
I didn't smile. My hands were shaking, my chest tight. I needed air.
I shoved open the heavy glass doors and stepped onto the terrace, where the city stretched out beneath me in glittering chaos. The night was cold enough to bite, but I welcomed it. The chill kept me from crumbling.
That's when I saw him.
Lucien Blackwell.
He was leaning against the railing, dressed in a black tailored suit that looked like it had been stitched for sin. Broad shoulders, dark hair swept back, eyes as sharp as a blade. And that smirk—God help me—that smirk was both an invitation and a warning.
Lucien was Gregory's rival in every way that mattered. Business. Power. Reputation. And my family's sworn enemy. The Blackwells had destroyed the Williams empire years ago in a ruthless takeover, leaving us with nothing but debts and bitterness.
"You look like you're about to commit murder," he drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
I swallowed hard, my spine straightening. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"I wasn't sneaking," he said. "You walked into my line of sight. Lucky me."
I gave him a flat look. "If you'll excuse me—"
"Gregory's a fool," Lucien interrupted, his voice low, deliberate. "But I've been telling people that for years. No one listens."
I froze. "You know?"
His mouth curved. "Everyone knows. Your perfect little fiancé has been playing the field for months. I didn't think you'd be the type to look the other way."
The words landed like a slap. "I'm not."
"Good," he said simply, taking a sip. "Because I have an offer for you."
I blinked. "An offer? Are you seriously trying to do business with me right now?"
"Not business." His gaze locked on mine. "Revenge."
The air between us shifted, sharp and dangerous.
"I can help you destroy Gregory," he said, his voice dropping lower, like a secret meant only for me. "Make him regret every choice that led him here tonight. But it will cost you."
"And what exactly is the price?" I asked, my pulse kicking up.
He took a slow step forward, until I could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive. His eyes didn't leave mine.
"Marry me."
The words hit like a wrecking ball. "What?"
"Marry me, Elara," he repeated, each syllable deliberate. "We announce it tomorrow. You become mine. In every way that matters. And in return, I'll give you what you want most Gregory's ruin."
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was joking. His expression said he wasn't.
"You're insane," I said finally, shaking my head. "Completely unhinged."
"Possibly," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But I'm also the only man in this city who can give you the kind of payback you deserve."
The dangerous part?
For one fleeting ,reckless second.... I considered it
---
The wind off the terrace whipped at my hair, tossing it into my face. I crossed my arms, partly against the cold, partly to shield myself from the absurdity of what he'd just said.
"You can't be serious," I said, searching his face for even a flicker of irony.
Lucien didn't flinch. "Deadly serious."
"You want me to marry you just to hurt Gregory?"
"No," he said, stepping closer. "I want you to marry me because it will serve both of us. You get revenge. I get exactly what I want."
My brows knit together. "And what exactly is that?"
His gaze dipped to my mouth for a split second before returning to my eyes. "You."
A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. The city buzzed below us, horns blaring, lights flickering, and still, it felt like there was no one else in the world but the two of us.
"This is insane," I whispered.
"Perhaps. But tell me you didn't imagine it for even a heartbeat. Tell me the thought of walking back into that ballroom on my arm, making Gregory watch, didn't set something in you alight."
I hated him for knowing. Because yes—somewhere between the humiliation, rage, and heartbreak—there was a spark. A dangerous, treacherous spark.
"You have five seconds to stop talking," I warned.
He smirked. "Or what?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but the sound of a voice calling my name sliced through the tension.
"Elara!"
It was my mother, gliding toward us in her champagne-colored gown, her diamond earrings catching the light. She smiled brightly for the photographers lingering just inside the glass doors, but her eyes darted between Lucien and me with suspicion.
"There you are," she said, slipping her arm through mine. "Gregory is looking for you."
"I'm sure he is," I muttered.
Lucien's smirk deepened. "Good evening, Mrs. Williams."
Her lips thinned. "Mr. Blackwell."
My mother despised the Blackwells even more than I did, which was saying something. She gave me a subtle squeeze, steering me away from him, but he didn't miss the chance to lean in just as we turned.
"Think about it," he murmured. "Before he gets the chance to spin the story."
I didn't look back. I couldn't. My heart was pounding too hard, my thoughts a messy tangle of betrayal, fury, and something far more dangerous—temptation.
---
The ballroom felt different when I walked back in. The glittering lights were too bright, the air too heavy, and every face seemed to turn in my direction. Gregory was near the stage, pretending to laugh with a cluster of business associates, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He was waiting for me to come to him. To smooth it over. To play the part of the perfect fiancée one more time.
I wasn't going to.
Instead, I let my mother guide me to a table near the center, where champagne flutes sparkled under the light. I took one and drained half of it in one swallow.
"You look pale," my mother said quietly.
"I'm fine," I lied.
Her eyes narrowed, but before she could press, Gregory appeared, his smile tight, his hand reaching for mine. "Can we talk?"
"No," I said flatly, pulling my hand back.
His smile faltered. "Elara, please, not here—"
"Not here?" My voice was sharp enough to cut through the hum of the party. "Oh, don't worry, Gregory. I wouldn't dream of making a scene. That's your department."
A few nearby guests turned to watch. He lowered his voice. "You're overreacting—"
I laughed—an ugly, humorless sound. "Overreacting? You were kissing my best friend!"
"Lower your voice," he hissed, leaning in.
I leaned back. "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."
Something in his expression shifted then—a flicker of panic beneath the charm. But before he could say more, a slow, deliberate clap came from behind us.
I turned.
Lucien.
He was standing just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, a smile playing at his lips. The kind of smile that promised trouble.
"Bravo," he said softly. "Finally showing some spine."
Gregory's jaw clenched. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Enjoying the show," Lucien replied, his gaze never leaving mine. "Though I must admit, I prefer the front row."
The tension between them was electric, dangerous. The kind of tension that could start a war.
Gregory's voice was low, lethal. "Stay away from her."
Lucien's smirk didn't falter. "Not a chance."
And then just to make things worse he reached out, took my hand, and kissed it. Slowly. Deliberately. The heat of his lips seared into my skin, and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Cameras flashed.
Gregory's face went pale. "Elara—"
"I'm done," I said, my voice steady.
And before either of them could speak, I turned and walked away.
---
I didn't stop until I was outside again, the night air biting my cheeks. My phone buzzed in my clutch—messages from friends, from Harper, from Gregory—but I ignored them all.
I should have been falling apart. Crying. Screaming. Something. Instead, I stood there, replaying Lucien's words over and over.
Marry me. Make him watch.
It was reckless. It was insane. It was the last thing I should want.
So why did it feel like the only thing I could think about?