Revenge Marriage: The Jilted Ballerina's Comeback

Daphne scrambled out of the bed, dragging the top sheet with her. She wrapped it around her body like a toga, tucking the end securely under her armpit.

She scanned the floor for her clothes.

Her silver dress lay in a heap near the door. It was ruined. Stained with mud, rain, and tequila. One strap was broken.

"I need to go. I need to fix this," she muttered frantically to herself, picking up the dress and realizing it was unwearable.

Charlton was leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing gray sweatpants now, holding a small espresso cup. He took a sip, watching her panic with detached interest.

"Fix what, exactly?" he asked. "The truth?"

Daphne found one of her heels under a chair. She couldn't find the other one.

"It was a mistake! I was drunk!" Daphne insisted, turning to him. "You know I wouldn't... we don't do that. We're us."

Charlton raised an eyebrow. He set the espresso cup down on a coaster.

"You didn't seem to think it was a mistake at 2 AM," he said.

"I don't remember 2 AM," she lied.

Flashes were returning, though. His hands in her hair. Her mouth on his neck. The desperate need to feel something other than rejection.

Charlton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote.

"My security system records the living room and the hallway," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Daphne froze. She clutched the sheet tighter.

"You wouldn't."

He pointed the remote at the giant OLED screen mounted on the wall. He clicked a button.

The screen flickered to life.

The footage was grainy but clear. It showed the entryway of the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened. Charlton and Daphne stumbled out.

On screen, Charlton was trying to guide her toward the guest room. He was being gentle. Respectful.

On screen, Daphne stopped. She grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

She pushed him against the wall.

Real-life Daphne gasped.

On screen, she stood on her tiptoes. She kissed him. It wasn't a tentative kiss. It was aggressive. It was demanding.

Charlton's hands hovered in the air for a moment, hesitant, before they settled on her waist.

On screen, Daphne pulled back slightly. Her face was visible. She looked desperate.

"Make me forget him, Charlie," the audio picked up clearly. "Please. Just make it stop hurting."

Then she kissed him again, pulling him toward the bedroom.

Real-life Daphne felt all the blood rush to her face. She covered her eyes with her hands.

"Turn it off! Turn it off right now!"

Charlton paused the video. The image froze on her face-eyes closed, lips parted, an expression of raw hunger.

"You initiated, Daph," he said. His voice dropped an octave. "I just... obliged."

He walked over to her. He reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face.

She refused to look at him. She stared at his chest.

"I'm not Campbell," he said. "I don't regret things I want."

Daphne looked up at him then. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

His eyes were searching hers. There was a question there, something vulnerable beneath the playboy mask.

She pulled away, stepping back. Her defense mechanisms slammed into place.

"This ruins everything," she said, her voice shaking. "Our friendship... it's the only stable thing I have."

Charlton's face hardened. The vulnerability vanished.

"Our friendship was built on you dating a moron," he said. "That foundation is gone."

He walked to the massive walk-in closet. He disappeared for a moment and came back holding a crisp white dress shirt.

He tossed it to her.

"Shower. Eat. We have a situation to discuss."

His tone was purely business now. The shift gave Daphne whiplash. One minute he was the lover, the next he was the CEO.

"What situation?" she asked, catching the shirt.

"Just get cleaned up," he said.

Daphne nodded, retreating toward the bathroom.

She closed the door and locked it. She leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Her mascara was smeared under her eyes. Her hair was a bird's nest.

She looked closer.

A hickey, dark and purple, was blooming on her collarbone.

She touched it. It was tender.

Outside the bathroom, Charlton stood in the middle of the room.

He looked at the frozen image on the screen. He looked at the way Daphne was holding him, as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling off the earth.

He selected the file.

Delete.

Confirm Deletion.

The screen went black.

He exhaled a long breath, his hands shaking slightly as he put the remote down. He would never let anyone see that. But he needed her to see it. He needed her to know that she wanted him, even if she wouldn't admit it yet.