He Married Me by Mistake, Then Regretted Losing Me

Delaney POV

I pulled my old suitcase off the closet shelf, the same bag I had brought with me three years ago. I didn't touch the designer dresses or the custom jewelry Raiden’s assistant had bought over the years. None of it belonged to me.

I packed only my plain cotton clothes, my sketchbooks, and a worn beige cardigan.

As I folded the cardigan, the bedroom door swung open.

Cynthia stepped inside, clicked the door shut behind her, and instantly dropped her fragile, limping facade. She stood tall, crossed her arms, and leaned against the frame with a cold, triumphant smirk.

"Packing already, Delaney?" Cynthia taunted, her voice devoid of any weak, breathy tremor. "I have to admit, watching you play the dutiful, silent wife for three years was almost entertaining."

I didn't pause my hands. I smoothed down the sweater, placed it in the bag, and met her gaze with an empty, steady stare.

"I don't need an audience anymore," Cynthia laughed softly, walking over to the bed. Her eyes landed on the cardigan, and her smirk widened. "Oh, look at that... the same sweater you wore the night you dragged Raiden out of the frozen lake."

She reached out and snatched the corner of the fabric, leaning in close.

"Did you really think a dead mother's promise would keep you in his bed forever?" Cynthia whispered viciously. "You bled on that ice while I hid in the warm cabin. But who gets the mansion? Who gets Raiden? Me. He thinks I'm his savior, Delaney, and he'll hate you for the rest of his life."

I didn't flinch. I reached out, grabbed her wrist with a tight, unyielding grip, and forced her fingers off my sweater.

"You can stop puffing your chest, Cynthia," I said, my voice dangerously calm as I stepped right into her space. "You didn't 'win' anything.

You scavenged a man who was handed to you because I stepped aside to honor a dead woman's promise—not because you were clever enough to take him."

Cynthia’s smile faltered, her jaw tightening as I held her wrist suspended in the air.

"A marriage built on a stolen rescue isn't a victory, it's a ticking clock," I continued, leaning down to whisper right in her ear. "You can have him. A man who is so blind he can't even recognize the hands that pulled him out of the ice isn't a prize. He's a blind fool, and you're welcome to spend the rest of your life terrified that he might open his eyes."

"Now get out of my room," I commanded, my voice dropping to a low whisper. "Unless you want me to march downstairs right now and ask Raiden why your 'paralyzed' legs are supporting your weight so effortlessly."

Cynthia’s face went completely pale. The triumphant smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of pure rage and panic. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, her fingernails digging deep into her palms.

"You think you're so smart, Delaney," Cynthia hissed, her voice trembling with anger. "You're nothing! You hear me? Nothing!"

Unable to mask her fury for another second, Cynthia whirled around, slammed the bedroom door behind her with a deafening BANG, and stormed out into the hallway.

I didn't flinch at the slam. I stood alone in the quiet room, smoothed down my sweater, and calmly zipped my suitcase shut.

Few moments later, I carried my suitcase down the grand staircase.

Cynthia was already downstairs, lounging frail on the velvet couch while Raiden’s mother, Evelyn, hovered over her with a cup of tea. The moment my heels hit the marble foyer, Cynthia let out a tiny, breathless gasp, clutching her chest as if the mere sight of my suitcase exhausted her fragile frame.

"Oh, Delaney..." Cynthia whimpered softly, tears welling in her eyes as Raiden stepped to her side to support her. "Please don't leave like this... it breaks my heart..."

Evelyn glared at me with undisguised contempt. "Finally. Now we can get this place cleaned up. Cynthia moves into the master suite tonight."

I kept my chin high, offered an empty, polite smile, and made a straight line for the front exit. "You won't have to worry about me, Mrs. Vance."

"Stop right there."

Raiden’s commanding voice cut through the foyer. Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble behind me, and a strong grip clamped around my wrist, pulling me to a sudden halt.

My sleeve pulled back under his force, exposing the scars running down my wrist—the permanent marks left by sharp, broken ice three years ago. Raiden’s eyes flicked down to my arm, his dark brows drawing together in a brief, subtle pause before his cold composure returned.

"Let go, Raiden," I said flatly. "We're done."

"You don't walk out until I say so," Raiden said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "You played the submissive wife for three years, Delaney. Don't ruin your performance at the finish line."

​"The family is holding a welcome dinner for Cynthia tonight," he continued coldly. "The board and the press don't know about our divorce yet.

"And if I walk out that door right now?"

"Then I will pull every supply contract your father's business relies on by tomorrow morning," Raiden threatened without missing a beat.

I stared at him, my pulse thumping in my ears.

If I fled into the night like a disgraced dog, they would spend the rest of their lives framing me as the bitter, jealous villain.

I yanked my wrist out of his grip. "Fine. I'll stay for dinner."

An hour later, the long dining table was dressed in crystal and fine china.

I sat at the far end, completely isolated, while Cynthia sat at Raiden’s right hand, bathed in the family's undivided attention. Throughout the meal, Evelyn showered her with praise, calling her a miracle for surviving her recovery and coming back to her rightful place.

I quietly ate my food, setting my silver fork down with measured, effortless composure while ignoring the sharp, hostile glances sent my way.

As the wine was served, Raiden’s uncle raised his glass. "To Cynthia—for bringing our Raiden back from the brink three years ago."

Glasses clinked. Cynthia smiled modestly, leaning her head onto Raiden’s shoulder.

Then, Raiden stood up from the head of the table.

He didn't pick up his glass. His dark eyes locked onto me at the far end of the long board, his face carved of absolute stone.

The dining room went dead quiet. Every eye at the table turned from Raiden to me.

"Before you walk out of this house and leave this family tonight, Delaney, there is one last thing you need to do," Raiden said, his deep voice carrying over the silent table.

He gestured toward Cynthia, his tone cold, demanding, and merciless.

"Stand up, look your sister in the eye, and apologize to her for stealing three years of her life."