The Vaughn Estate was quiet when I returned to my room, but the silence wasn't peace. It was the silence of vultures waiting for the body to stop twitching.
I shut the door behind me, locking out the whispers, the laughter, the headlines already being written about me. But their voices echoed anyway. Forsaken bride. Used and discarded. Just a pawn.
The mirror across the room caught me, cruel and unflinching. A soaked figure in white stared back—hair plastered to pale cheeks, mascara streaking like war paint, gown clinging like a curse. My own eyes looked hollow, unrecognizable.
I wanted to look away. But I couldn't.
This was me. The woman who had stood by Adrian for six years. The woman who had let her family trample her, believing patience would win love, loyalty, and belonging.
And what had it brought me?
Public humiliation. Betrayal. Laughter.
Slowly, my lips curled into something that wasn't a smile.
It was rage.
---
I tore the veil from my head. Pearls scattered across the carpet, rolling like broken promises. The sound was sharp, satisfying. My hands shook, not from weakness, but from fury that demanded to be unleashed.
"Never again," I whispered.
The bouquet lay crumpled where I had dropped it earlier, roses bruised and stems broken. I ground it beneath my heel until petals smeared into the carpet. Let the scent of dead roses fill this room—it was fitting.
Tomorrow, the papers would call me pathetic. Tomorrow, the whispers would multiply. But tomorrow was also when I would decide whether to stay broken, or to rise.
The knock at the door startled me. A sharp, deliberate sound.
I froze.
"Elena."
The voice was cold, unmistakable.
Adrian.
My pulse thundered. Fury surged, but my body moved on instinct, dragging the ruined gown across the room. I yanked open the door.
And there he was, standing in the hall as if nothing had happened.
He looked immaculate, as always. Not a single crease in his suit, not a hair out of place. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes flickered with something I couldn't name.
"Why are you here?" My voice was hoarse, raw, but steady enough.
Adrian's gaze swept over me, lingering on the mascara streaks, the torn veil still clutched in my hand. For once, he looked… almost guilty.
"I didn't want you to hear it like that," he said quietly. "I wanted to explain."
"Explain?" My laugh was hollow. "You canceled our wedding in front of hundreds of people. What's left to explain?"
He winced, barely. Then his jaw tightened, his tone shifting back to the cool authority that ruled boardrooms.
"This is business, Elena. You knew what marrying me meant. It was never just love—it was strategy. Eleanor's family brings more to the table. I had no choice."
"No choice?" My voice cracked like glass. "You had every choice, Adrian. You chose power. You chose them."
Silence stretched between us. Rain drummed against the windows, relentless.
Finally, he said it. The knife I hadn't realized I was still waiting for.
"When this is over, when things are stable… we can talk again. You'll still be important to me."
Important.
The word lodged in my throat, bitter and choking.
I stared at him, and for the first time, I saw not the man I had loved, but the mask he wore—the ambition that had consumed him, the emptiness where his heart should have been.
"Get out," I whispered.
"Elena—"
"Get. Out."
My voice rose like thunder. Rage shook me, fueled by humiliation and loss. "You made your choice, Adrian Blackwell. Don't you dare come here and offer me scraps as consolation. I am not your second option. I will never be your pawn again."
His eyes darkened. For a heartbeat, I thought he might fight, might plead, might show a flicker of the man I once knew.
But instead, he turned. Just as he had on that stage, he walked away without looking back.
The door slammed shut.
---
I sank against it, my chest heaving. My hands trembled, but not from grief this time. From fury. From resolve.
Adrian Blackwell had taken everything from me. My family had abandoned me. Society had mocked me.
And Damien Hartmann had offered me something none of them ever had: a chance to fight back.
I looked once more at the mirror, at the ruined bride staring back at me. She was gone.
What stood in her place was someone else. Someone who would not bow, who would not break.
The ashes of a bride. The spark of a queen.