The One She Loved to Hate

The wedding had barely started when the lights went out.

Then came the moans—from the giant screen behind the altar.

Hailey froze. Her skin went ghost-pale. Her whole body shook.

A beat later, the doors slammed open.

Leading the charge? Nolan. Cold eyes, sharp suit, and bodyguards in tow. He stormed the stage.

The groom tried to stop him. Big mistake. Nolan's guys dropped him in seconds.

Nolan grabbed a fistful of the groom's hair and yanked his head back. "Heh. I've slept with Hailey hundreds—maybe thousands—of times. Used condoms alone could fill your house. Wanna see the HD vids?"

Hailey's eyes locked on Nolan, pure hate.

She'd been his kept woman for eight years.

He loathed her family. He loathed her. Swore she'd never know peace.

Then she disappeared—and he lost his mind.

The wedding had barely started when the lights went out.

Then came the moans—from the giant screen behind the altar.

Hailey Hart froze. Her skin went ghost-pale. Her whole body shook.

A beat later, the doors slammed open.

Leading the charge? Nolan Thorne. Cold eyes, sharp suit, and bodyguards in tow. He stormed the stage like he owned it.

Ethan Gardner, the groom, tried to stop him. Big mistake. Nolan's guys dropped him in seconds.

Nolan grabbed a fistful of Ethan's hair and yanked his head back. "Heh. I've slept with Hailey hundreds—maybe thousands—of times. Used condoms alone could fill your house. Wanna see the HD vids?"

Ethan's face twisted. He looked at Hailey. She couldn't move.

The crowd gasped.

"Seriously? He picked HER?"

"That skank tried to marry my son? She's disgusting!

"Hailey, you're a shameless tramp! No wonder you were so desperate—you've been passed around!"

"Gross. Just straight-up nasty. Did you hear those noises? Total trash. No class. Who even raised her?"

The insults flew. Hailey backed up—until Nolan grabbed her waist and pulled her in.

She slashed at him, nails catching his lip. Blood smeared his smirk.

"Nolan, you sick freak!"

His eyes darkened. He grabbed her jaw, yanked her close, and bit her lip—hard.

The crowd lost it.

To them, it just proved everything they'd said.

Then Nolan scooped her up like she weighed nothing. Her wedding gown flowed behind her—like some fairytale.

If only it wasn't him.

***

In the car.

"Mr. Thorne, where to?"

"Back to Northwick." Nolan's voice was ice.

His gaze dropped to Hailey's wedding dress—white, perfect. His thumb swiped her red lips, then smeared the color across her cheek like war paint.

He grabbed her neck and yanked her in.

"Nolan, let me go!"

She thrashed, but he didn't move. His grip only tightened as the privacy divider slid up.

She was trapped. No out. Just the heat of his rage.

But she didn't fold.

Hailey stared him down, eyes locked on his.

Then he struck—hand clamped around her jaw. Pain shot through her skull. Her vision blurred.

He leaned in, sneering. "This hurts? You really thought biting your tongue would be some noble exit?"

Everything went black before she could answer.

***

In her dream, Hailey was back in the good old days.

Her parents—Donovan and Amelia—were alive, doting. And Nolan? Always nearby with that soft smile and sweet lies.

Back then, she was still the Hart heiress. Untouchable.

Nolan was the kid of Donovan's old best friend, Frederick. After Frederick died, Donovan took him in, treated him like his own. Nolan played perfect—polite, sharp, golden boy.

With no sons of his own, Donovan planned to give him everything. Hart Corp. Hailey. The future.

Then it all flipped.

Nolan came out of the study, stone-faced. He brushed past her, knocking away her hand.

A scream followed.

Donovan was dead. Scissors in the chest. Suicide.

Next day, the cops came with baggage.

Turns out, the dad she adored had messed up big. Bad enough to ruin Nolan's father and shatter his mom completely.

So Nolan made a vow: take down the Hart family. Every last piece.

Starting with Donovan's pride and joy—Hailey.

Eight years. She was his mistress. Humiliated. Used.

***

Hailey shot awake.

The room hit like a slap—perfect, familiar.

And just like that, the despair came flooding in.