Once the Love Was Dead

Everyone cursed me as a shameless slut and painted Donovan as a wronged saint. They even celebrated Blair as a brave woman who defied gossip for true love.

Their fans flooded my inbox with hate, threw trash at our apartment door, and even created disgusting, doctored photos of me.

All the while, Donovan was traveling the world with Blair, visiting every single place I had ever dreamed of going with him.

But even then, I couldn't let go of the love we'd shared for years.

After all, after my older brother died, he was the one who loved me most, who treated me best.

In my loneliest, most helpless moments after my family fell apart, it was Donovan—my brother's best friend—who found me and became my guardian.

He had held me tightly, his voice a raw mix of anger and pain.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"Juliet, listen to me. Even if the whole world abandons you, I will always be your rock."

From then on, Donovan devoted himself to caring for me, spoiling me rotten.

He brought me to New York. In the private schools teeming with the heirs of billionaires, I was the girl who didn't belong, and everyone was waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

But at the opening ceremony, Donovan announced to everyone, "Juliet Monroe is off-limits. Anyone who touches her answers to me."

Day to day, he personally managed every detail of my life, helping me escape the shadows of my past.

The moment luxury brands released their new haute couture, Donovan had them all sent to our home.

I once casually mentioned envying princesses in castles, and he bought a stretch of coastal land in the Hamptons and built me a fairytale villa.

One by one, these stories spread through New York's high society. Everyone knew how devoted Donovan was to me.

He nurtured me back to life, helping me rediscover a radiant, carefree—even spoiled—side of myself I thought was gone forever.

Whenever I woke from nightmares, terrified he too would one day abandon me, I'd cry and throw a tantrum. And he would tell me, patiently and solemnly, over and over again, "Don't ever worry, Juliet. The only way I'll stop loving you is if I'm dead."

How could I ever let go of a Donovan like that?

So, after he and Blair returned, I began the humiliating pilgrimage to win him back.

I showed him the medical report, but no matter how I explained, Donovan insisted it was just evidence I had forged.

Left with no other options, I found the platinum bracelet he'd given me, engraved with our initials, desperate to awaken his memories.

He only glanced at it before tossing it into the fireplace in front of me.

Eventually, I even wore a sexy silk nightgown, hoping my husband would spend just one night with me.

Donovan stopped in his tracks. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he walked toward me.

But just as his lips were about to meet mine, he pinched my chin, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"Juliet, are you really this cheap?"

"Too bad for you, I'm a clean person. I don't touch filth."

The next day, at the charity gala for our first wedding anniversary, Donovan was on stage giving a speech. On the giant screen behind him, a private photo of me in that same silk nightgown was "accidentally" displayed.

I was escorted into the venue, only to see my own image projected high above.

Donovan watched the color drain from my face, a cruel, triumphant smile on his.

"Do you like your first-anniversary gift, my dear wife?"

The room erupted in mocking laughter, and countless greasy gazes crawled over my body.