Bride of Betrayal

The Boeing 787 glided across the tarmac outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of JFK’s first-class lounge. My phone screen glowed with two digital boarding passes to Bali. Under the harsh, fluorescent terminal lights, the three-carat diamond on my left hand threw off icy splinters of reflection.

Two arms wrapped around my waist.

Adrian rested his chin in the curve of my neck. He smelled like expensive cologne and mint.

"Baby," he murmured, his tone as casual as if he were asking what we should order for dinner. "I'm skipping the honeymoon."

I turned my head, my brow furrowing. "What did you just say?"

"Our relationship already has everyone's blessing," he answered. He stepped back, slipping his hands into his tailored slacks. "Missing one ceremony doesn't matter."

"We planned this trip for a year, Adrian. The flight boards in twenty minutes."

Before I could argue further, he reached for his left hand. He slid the platinum wedding band off his finger and dropped it straight into my open palm.

The metal still carried his body heat.

"I have someone on the side," Adrian said.

I stared at the ring in my hand. "Someone on the side."

"A girl," he clarified, his voice smooth and entirely unapologetic. "I promised I'd spend the next couple of weeks with her. Marrying you wronged her. So, you get the title of Mrs. Cross, and she gets me. It's a fair trade."

My fingers curled inward, trapping his warm ring against my skin.

Inside my coat pocket, the folded ultrasound printout I had picked up from the clinic this morning suddenly felt like a burning coal against my hip. I gripped my leather purse strap. My nails dug so fiercely into my palm that the skin broke.

A sharp, metallic taste flooded my mouth. I swallowed the blood.

"How long?" I asked. My voice sounded flat, entirely devoid of the panic screaming through my veins.

Adrian tilted his head. His dark eyes softened into a mask of perfect, practiced guilt.

"Half a year," he answered without hesitation.

"Six months." I repeated the words, testing their weight. "You've been hiding a woman for six months while we planned a wedding."

"Your temper is too explosive, Scarlett," he sighed, shifting his weight. "I didn't dare bring it to your attention. You would have torn the house apart."

"So you lied to my face instead."

"You know how I feel about you," he continued, stepping closer. "I've wanted to marry you since we were kids in foster care. I made you my wife today. But a man can't love only one person his entire life. It’s just not realistic."

He reached out, trying to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. I stepped back, dodging his touch.

"Don't touch me," I snapped.

"Look, if you feel cheated," Adrian offered softly, dropping his hand, "we can both play our own games. Have your fun on the side. I won't stop you. Seeing you upset hurts me, you know that."

A loud buzzing noise filled my ears, drowning out the dull roar of the jet engines outside.

Twenty-eight years of memories shattered across my vision. Sneaking out of our group home window in the dead of night. Huddling together under a damp overpass, shivering violently. Splitting a single cup of instant ramen because it was all we had. Adrian dropping to his knees in the freezing snow, swearing to the sky that he would give me a perfect life.

*You'll never cry over a man, Scarlett,* he had promised me then. *Especially not over me.*

A laugh bubbled up my throat, harsh and raw. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I forced my mouth into a smile.

"You're right," I told him, nodding slowly. "I shouldn't force myself to suffer."

Adrian blinked. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly melting into immense relief. He let out a long exhale and patted the top of my head.

"I'm so glad you understand," he chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "With your fiery personality, I was honestly terrified you'd go hunt Celeste down and make a scene."

Celeste. He gave her a name.

"You thought I'd fight her for you?" I asked.

"Women get crazy over these things," he dismissed, waving a hand. "But you've always been the rational one. By the way, where did you pack your wedding dress? Is it in the checked luggage or your carry-on?"

"Why do you care about my dress?" The words scraped against my throat.

"I was a little too rough with her last night," Adrian grinned, a boyish, sheepish expression crossing his face. "Her nails snagged the lace on the skirt and tore the lining. She's been stressing about it all morning. She really wants to mend it for you."

Ice water flooded my veins, freezing me from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head.

Three hours ago, I stood in that dress. My best friend adjusted the veil. I walked down the aisle toward the man standing in front of me. I pledged my life to him in front of two hundred people.

Now, that pristine white fabric carried the stains of his affair.

"She wore my dress," I whispered.

"She was crying," Adrian explained, his tone shifting to a gentle plea. "She begged me to let her try it on. She just wanted to feel what it was like to marry me, even for a few minutes. You’re both women, Scarlett. You can forgive something like that, right?"

"Forgive it?"

"It's just a piece of clothing," he argued, his brow furrowing in irritation. "I bought it for you anyway. I told her she could wear it for an hour. Things just got a little out of hand."

"Out of hand?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"We were drinking," Adrian said, dragging a hand through his hair. "She put it on. She looked beautiful. I got carried away. You know how it is. We ended up on the floor of the bridal suite, and the lace caught on a chair leg. It's really not a big deal, Scarlett. A tailor can fix it in twenty minutes."

I searched his face. His eyes held the same deep affection they always did. He stood there, casually admitting to a six-month affair, admitting to stripping off my wedding gown to sleep with his mistress, and he truly believed I would just nod and board a plane.

The sheer absurdity of the moment suffocated me.

"You let her wear my dress," I repeated, my voice rising. "You fucked another woman in the dress I married you in."

"Keep your voice down," Adrian hissed, glancing around the empty lounge. "I told you she's going to fix it. Don't make this a bigger deal than it is."

I closed my eyes. The terminal announcements faded into static. The man standing in front of me was a stranger. The boy who promised me the world in the snow was dead.

"Since you love each other so much," I said, opening my eyes to pin him with a dead stare. "Let's get a divorce."

Adrian’s relaxed posture vanished. His jaw tightened.

"Don't joke like that, Scarlett. I just told you I'm keeping you as my wife."

"I'm not joking." I threw his wedding band onto the polished floor. It clattered loudly, rolling toward his leather shoes. "Keep your ring. Keep your mistress. I'm done."

I turned on my heel and walked away from the boarding gate.

"Scarlett!" he barked. His footsteps pounded behind me. "Stop right now! You're making a scene over nothing!"

He grabbed my arm, yanking me backward. My purse slipped from my shoulder, spilling its contents across the terminal floor.

Lipstick. Keys. My passport.

And a crumpled white paper with the clinic's bold blue logo, unfolding right at Adrian's feet.

He glanced down, his annoyance shifting into utter confusion as he read the bold print at the top of the page.

Positive.

He froze, his grip on my arm loosening.

"Scarlett," he whispered, staring at the paper. "What is this?"

I snatched the paper from the floor and shoved it back into my pocket.

"It's nothing that concerns you anymore," I said.

"Are you pregnant?" he demanded, stepping into my space. "Is that a pregnancy test?"

"I said, we are getting a divorce."

"You can't divorce me if you're carrying my child!" he shouted, his calm facade finally shattering.

"Watch me," I replied, turning my back on him.

"If you walk out those doors, I’ll cut off all your cards!" Adrian yelled across the terminal. "You have nothing without me, Scarlett! Nothing!"

I didn't stop walking.

Let him think that. Let him think he held all the power.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my lawyer lit up the screen.

*The controlling voting trust is executed. You now command fifty-one percent of the voting equity.*

Adrian was right about one thing. I was going to play my own game. And he was going to lose everything.