I’ll Have My Revenge, Husband

His brows pulled together in concern, but I didn’t allow him to come any closer. I turned my back on him and kept walking, even though every step sent a sharp ache through my body.

I reached my car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind me. The moment I was alone, I folded forward, my forehead hitting the steering wheel. A broken sound slipped out of my throat—small, weak, nothing like the woman I was supposed to be.

By four in the morning, I finally dragged myself home, eyes swollen and burning. I went straight to the bathroom and scrubbed my skin raw under the shower spray. No matter how much soap I used, I could still smell him. I knew better than to think of calling the police. My father would never allow it. If I tried, he would only silence everything and hurry me into the Hartman family even faster.

I clenched my teeth and told myself it was fine. Just endure it. Pretend it meant nothing. Treat it like a bite from a stray dog.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, exhaustion hit me all at once. I collapsed onto my bed, and my hand brushed against the framed photo on the nightstand. My mother smiled up at me from behind the glass.

She died when I was twelve.

The day my father brought his mistress into our home—parading her openly—my mother’s heart shattered. She never recovered from that humiliation. She faded, slowly and painfully, until she was gone. That was the day hatred took root inside me. But I had been too young. Too weak to fight back. Ever since then, every year on the anniversary of her death, I was forced to lower my head before my stepmother.

I stared at my mother’s gentle smile and whispered, “Mom… I tried. I was given another chance, and I really tried to change my fate. I tried not to let anyone control me. Was I wrong?”

Moonlight spilled softly across the room. I clutched the photo to my chest and drifted into sleep. In my dream, my mother’s hand brushed my cheek.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said softly. “Those who truly love you will always understand.”

Then the dream twisted—back to last night. The leather sofa. The suffocating air. My own helpless body.

When I woke, tears were already sliding down my face.

I forced myself to get dressed, to look presentable, but before I could finish, a knock sounded at the door.

“Miss,” the butler said from outside, “the young master of the Hartman family is here to formally propose. Please come to the front hall.”

My heart dropped straight to my stomach.

Maximilian moved fast. Far too fast.

I steadied my breathing and walked out. Before I even entered the hall, I heard his voice—smooth, composed, as though nothing could ever shake him.

“Mr. DeLacroix,” Maximilian was saying, “I sincerely wish to marry Vivienne. I’ll treat her properly. I hope to receive your blessing.”

My father looked more than satisfied. “If that’s the case, we’ll arrange for a compatibility check tomorrow.”

My chest tightened painfully.

Marry him?

That was the same as stepping straight back into his cage. And I remembered all too clearly how that had ended.

No. Never again.

“Dad,” I said, stepping forward, “I’m willing to marry into the Hartman family. But I have two conditions.”

My father’s smile vanished instantly. “Vivienne, don’t overstep.”

Maximilian’s gaze locked onto me. There was danger in his eyes, though his voice remained calm. “Go on. Say it. If it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you.”

I drew in a deep breath. This was a risk—but I had to take it. “I want a dowry of two billion dollars. And I want all the land your family is developing in Uptown—transferred entirely into my name.”

I kept my spine straight, refusing to flinch, secretly hoping he’d be furious enough to walk away.

Instead, his lips curved into something that was almost a smile.

He leaned back, studying me as if I were a riddle he enjoyed tearing apart.

“Two billion… and Uptown,” he repeated slowly, savoring each word. “You surprise me, Vivienne. I think I’m going to enjoy this marriage.”

My heart clenched hard.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The weight in his voice made my instincts scream at me to run. My gaze drifted toward the entrance without meaning to.

And then I saw him.

Sebastian.

My breath caught.

He stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, his broad shoulders filling the space. His dark suit was sharply cut, his presence alone enough to shift the atmosphere of the room. But his face—his face was distant, unreadable. When his eyes met mine, my body froze.

My father immediately stood, smiling awkwardly. “Mr. Hawthorne? I wasn’t expecting you this evening. Is there something urgent?”

Sebastian glanced at me for a brief second before turning to my father. “Mr. DeLacroix. I came here tonight to propose.”

My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

This is it.

“I want to marry Miss Camille DeLacroix.”

What…?

The words knocked the breath out of me completely.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. My chest constricted so tightly I thought I might pass out. In my previous life, Sebastian had never married anyone. He had been mine in his quiet, stubborn way. I remembered how his ears would turn red whenever he tried to speak to me, how he had given up everything—his wealth, his pride—just to fight for me, even risking his life to buy my freedom.

And now he stood here, asking to marry my sister.

My illegitimate sister.

My lips parted, but before I could say a word, Camille rushed forward.

“Dad!” Her voice was sharp and frantic. “I don’t want to marry him! I love Maximilian!” She pointed straight at the man beside me.

Maximilian only leaned back lazily in his chair, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, dangerous smirk.

“Please, Dad,” Camille cried, “I don’t want Sebastian. Let Vivienne marry him instead. They’re the ones who make sense together. Why don’t we just… switch?”