After Marrying a Fake Heiress, She Regretted Losing Me

I let out a short laugh. She tensed instantly as if bracing for what I might say.

"Edmund, don’t bother. Let him carry me."

She was still wearing the red dress I had picked for her yesterday. Now, it was wrinkled, the hem frayed with tiny tears, silent proof of the night she had spent in his arms.

My fists clenched, but I pretended not to catch the meaning behind her words. Stubbornly, I reached for her again.

She met my gaze, defiant, her chin tilted ever so slightly.

"Edmund, go get Young Master Remington a hangover remedy."

The moment I heard his surname, my head snapped up.

I glanced at the license plate once more, and suddenly, everything fell into place.

So this was the man the family had chosen for her.

She had bragged about it before, how her fiancé was leagues above the fake heiress’s match.

Swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth, I mixed honey with water and carried it to Juliet.

Anger burned beneath my skin, but I didn’t bother knocking.

Inside, they had been tangled up in each other, lost in some intimate moment, but at the sound of the door, they sprang apart, fumbling to straighten their clothes.

Juliet’s cheeks flushed as she yanked the blanket over herself, looking impossibly shy, like a true first-timer.

I had seen her in her most reckless, indulgent moments. I had watched her teeter on the edge of control. But never like this.

For a long moment, I just stood there, frozen, the glass in my hand feeling heavier than it should.

I had met her when she was just an ordinary girl. And when she rose among Highbourne’s elite, I had followed, becoming her shadow, her bodyguard.

Every servant in her house was strikingly attractive. It hadn’t been a coincidence. It took me a while to realize she had done this deliberately.

And yet, I was the one who had lasted the longest by her side.

She once told me I was addictive, different from the pretty boys she had toyed with before.

I had foolishly believed that meant she would choose me.

Now, I knew better.

Noticing I was still standing there, she peeked out from beneath the covers, her lips curling into a playful pout.

"Edmund, get out already."

Then, as if she hadn’t already torn me apart enough, she turned back to Sebastian, her voice dipping into something soft, teasing.

"It was my first time and you were so rough. You need to make it up to me."

Sebastian, lounging at the edge of the bed, slid a hand under the covers, soothing her, right in front of me.

I couldn't bear to listen any longer and shut the door.

Inside, the sounds only grew louder, no longer restrained.

Back at the security post, a few guards exchanged sneers.

They had always resented me for staying by Juliet’s side longer than they ever could. Now that I had been cast aside, they saw no reason to hold back.

Outnumbered, I couldn’t fight them off. My thoughts were still stuck in that room as fists rained down on me. By the time they finally let up, leaving me bruised and swollen, things in Juliet’s room had yet to end.

I returned to the security quarters, stripped off my shirt and began tending to my wounds.

Just as I reached for the medicine, a pair of hands appeared behind me, plucking it from my grasp.

Startled, I turned and found myself face-to-face with Genevieve Radcliffe.