MARRIED TO THE CEO WHO RUINED ME: HIS BRIDE, HIS REVENGE

Sunlight spilled like molten gold across the tangled sheets, creeping up the length of the girl lying motionless in bed.

Marceline groaned softly, burying her face beneath the pillow in a futile attempt to escape the dawn. The sunlight cut through the curtains like a blade, warm and merciless, illuminating the ghost of a night that still lingered on her skin.

She wanted to drift back into the haze of sleep, back into the arms that had held her so tightly hours before—arms that were no longer there.

Then her phone rang.

Sharp. Shrill. Jarring.

She jolted upright, her heart skipping once—then twice—as her gaze swept the room.

Empty.

The spot beside her in the bed was cold. Sheets undisturbed. Like he had never been there at all.

But he had. She knew he had.

Memories surged back, uninvited—his breath against her neck, the way his lips had traced promises down her spine, the things he whispered between gasps and kisses. She blushed despite herself, one hand reaching out to the vacant pillow beside her. It was cold. Too cold.

"Cross?" she called out, voice soft, unsure.

Silence answered her.

The ache in her muscles made it hard to stand, but she pushed herself upright with a groan. Every step across the room was laced with soreness, her body remembering what her heart refused to question.

She reached the vanity, where her phone buzzed with another incoming call—an unfamiliar number. She ignored it, scrolling instead to his name.

Calling…

No answer.

Again.

Still nothing.

Her fingers trembled as she lowered the phone. She bit into her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The silence screamed louder than any ringtone.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess of raven waves, her lips swollen, eyes still carrying the weight of everything she’d surrendered the night before. There had been truth in his touch, hadn’t there? Something more than just a game?

Why then… why was she alone?

She turned away from the mirror, phone slipping from her hand onto the dresser with a soft clack, and shuffled toward the bathroom. Her limbs moved slowly, weighed down by more than soreness. Something inside her felt out of place—off-kilter.

Like the world had shifted and she’d missed the moment it cracked.

She tried to tell herself it was nothing. Maybe he’d just left early. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe—

But deep in her chest, wrapped in the fragile silence of that empty room, something began to splinter.

… … ..

She stood beneath the steaming spray of the shower, eyes closed, letting the water wash over her like a baptism she hadn’t asked for. It kissed every bruise and sore place he’d left behind—traces of pleasure now turned to thorns.

Her heart pulsed like a wound.

She tried not to think. Tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. But when she shut her eyes, all she could see was the look in his—intense, possessive, soft—a lie,