Chapter 1

The rain fell in a slow, miserable drizzle.

It was my ninety-ninth wedding day with Mark Johnson.

I stood on the cold stone steps of City Hall, my simple white dress already damp. We had been together for ten years. Ten years of my life, waiting.

My phone rang. It was him. I answered, my heart a heavy stone in my chest.

"Olivia, I can't make it today."

His voice was casual, like he was canceling a coffee date. There was no apology. Not a hint of regret.

I closed my eyes. "Why, Mark?"

"Something came up. There's a limited edition Chronos watch, the 'Starlight' model. Sarah really wants it, and the auction is today. You understand, right?"

Sarah Miller. My former student. His mistress.

My hand holding the phone started to shake. For a watch. He was ditching our wedding, our ninety-ninth attempt at a wedding, for a watch for his mistress.

"I see," I said. My voice was hollow.

"Great. I'll make it up to you later. I've got to go."

He hung up.

The line went dead. I stood there, the rain soaking into my hair, my dress, my soul. The bouquet of white roses slipped from my fingers and scattered on the wet pavement.

Ten years. Ninety-nine broken promises. I had given him my youth, my patience, my career. I was a talented architect, but I had put so many projects on hold for him, for us, for a future he never intended to build.

A wave of cold fury washed over me, so intense it burned away the despair. It was a clean, sharp feeling.

I was done.

"He's not coming, is he?"

The voice was deep and smooth. I turned.

Liam Black stood under a large black umbrella, his tailored suit perfectly dry. He was the CEO of Blackwood Technologies, a self-made tech giant. And Mark's biggest business rival.

Their animosity was legendary in the city's business circles.

"What do you want, Liam?" I asked, my voice flat.

He looked at the scattered roses, then back at my face. His eyes, a cool, intelligent gray, held a flicker of something I couldn't read.

"I have a proposal," he said, his tone even.

I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "I've had enough proposals for one lifetime."

"He stood you up," Liam stated, not unkindly. "So, marry me instead."

I stared at him. The rain, the city noise, everything faded away. He couldn't be serious. This was just another way to get at Mark.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"Mark Johnson's greatest obsession is you," Liam said, taking a step closer. "The one thing he thinks he owns completely. Taking you from him would be the ultimate victory."

He was honest, at least. He wasn't pretending this was about love. It was business. A power play.

And I was tired. So incredibly tired of being a pawn in Mark' s game. Maybe it was time to be a pawn in someone else's.

A wild, reckless thought took root. What if I said yes? What if, for once, I did something for myself? An act of pure, unadulterated spite.

"You want to marry me to piss off Mark?" I asked, a strange calm settling over me.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "And you need an escape. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

I looked at his outstretched hand. He was right. I was desperate for an escape.

"Okay," I said, the word tasting like freedom on my tongue. "Let's get married."

Liam's expression didn't change, but a glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. He nodded once.

"City Hall is right here," I said, gesturing to the building behind me. "We can do it now."

"Perfect."

He was efficient. Within minutes, his assistant had arrived with the necessary paperwork. We stood before a clerk in a small, sterile room that smelled of old paper. The process was a blur of signatures and official language.

I watched Liam as he signed his name with a firm, confident hand. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a presence that filled the room. He wasn't charismatic and flashy like Mark. He was quiet, composed, and powerful in a much more solid way.

The clerk pronounced us husband and wife.

Liam turned to me. He took the marriage certificate from the clerk and folded it carefully, placing it in his inner jacket pocket.

"I need to go back to the villa to pack my things," I said, my voice steady. It was the house I had designed, the home I had shared with Mark.

"Of course," he replied. Then, for the first time, a hint of something personal entered his voice. "Don't worry, Mrs. Black. He can't touch you now."

Mrs. Black.

The name hit me with the force of a physical blow. A blush crept up my neck. It felt foreign, strange, yet undeniably real. The official stamp on a decision that had just ripped my life in two.

A small, triumphant smile touched my lips. Mark thought I was playing hard to get. He thought I'd be waiting for him, ready to forgive. He had no idea what I had just done.

For ten years, I had been Olivia Reed, Mark Johnson's devoted, patient girlfriend.

Now, I was Olivia Reed Black.

And I was finally free.