Betrayed Bride: Marrying The Ice Tyrant

Faye Matthews POV:

Tonight is the third anniversary of my engagement to Carter Hayes.

I have made plans with Carter to go to a famous restaurant for our anniversary candlelight dinner.

Before departure, I checked the passenger seat again. The gift box sat there, a perfect square of dark blue tied with a silver ribbon. Inside was a Patek Philippe watch, the one Carter had been talking about for months. It is also the anniversary gift I planned to give him today.

Just then, my phone lit up, and when I checked, it was a text message from Carter.

"Hey babe, team's calling for a last-minute practice. I'm going to be late. Can you go to the restaurant first?"

This excuse has appeared too frequently recently, to the point where I'm starting to doubt it.

An instinct I'd been ignoring for months screamed at me. I opened the "Find My Device" app. We'd set it up when we were still deliriously in love, for "safety."

The little blue dot representing Carter's phone wasn't at the training facility. It was five miles from our restaurant, at a scenic overlook known for one thing.

A place for lovers.

I started the car. The windshield wipers swiped frantically, as if trying to clear away the lie in front of my eyes.

I didn't listen to Carter and drive to the restaurant. I drove straight to that overlook.

At the end of the road, I saw the Carter's car. His black Porsche 911. Tucked away in the most secluded corner, the car's body rocked with a gentle, rhythmic motion. A white fog of condensation clouded the windows.

My heart didn't just sink. It plummeted.

I took a deep breath, the air sharp and cold in my lungs. Then I pushed open my door. The icy rain hit me instantly, plastering my hair to my scalp and soaking my shoulders.

I walked toward the car, my heels clicking a lonely, sharp rhythm on the wet pavement. Through the blurred glass, I could see two silhouettes, tangled together.

I reached the driver's side and rapped my knuckles hard against the window.

The movement inside stopped. A few seconds ticked by, each one a lifetime. Then, the window slowly lowered.

Carter's face, panicked and pale, appeared.

Before he could stammer out a single word, the person in the passenger seat turned. That signature mane of flaxen blonde curls, that face I'd looked at for twenty years-my stepsister, Sienna Vance.

She saw me. There was no guilt on her face. Just the corner of her mouth twitching into a triumphant, mocking smile. She was showing off her prize.

"Faye," Carter began, his voice a jumbled mess. "It's not what you think. Sienna was drunk, I was just..."

I cut him off. My face was a blank mask. I walked back to my car, picked up the beautiful gift box, and returned to his window.

In front of them, I opened the box. I took out the watch, its polished face gleaming even in the dim light. Then I let it drop. It landed with a soft splash in the muddy puddle at my feet.

Next, I pulled the three-carat diamond ring from my finger. Without hesitation, I threw it at his face.

"We finished, Carter."

My voice was flat. Devoid of all emotion.

I turned and walked away, not looking back. Back in my car, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had saved for a day I hoped would never come. The number for New York's most notorious gossip columnist.

"I have an exclusive for you."

After I hung up, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, fleeing the place that had just suffocated my life. I didn't know where to go. I couldn't go home. That house had never really been mine.

I drove aimlessly, the city lights blurring through my tears, and ended up at a quiet, upscale coffee shop. I needed a place to disappear.

I walked into the warm, dimly lit cafe, drenched and broken. My makeup was a mess of black streaks down my cheeks. I was a wreck.

A barista approached, his face a mix of concern and irritation. "Ma'am, we're about to close, and you're soaking wet..."

His words were cut short by a low, magnetic voice.

"She's with us."

I looked up. A man stood there, tall and imposing, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His deep gray eyes, the color of a winter storm, watched me calmly. But for the briefest instant, something flickered in their depths - a flash of recognition, so swift it was almost invisible, as if he had been waiting to see me for a very long time.

The barista nodded and quickly stepped away.

The man didn't ask any questions. He had his assistant bring me a clean, dry blanket and personally handed me a cup of hot coffee.

His fingertips brushed against the back of my hand. They were dry and warm, a stark contrast to my ice-cold skin.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He just gave a slight nod, then sat at a table not far from me, attending to his work. He didn't bother me again.

His presence was like an invisible shield, deflecting all the stares and whispers, giving me a small space to breathe on the worst night of my life.

After what felt like an eternity, he stood up to leave. As he passed me, he paused. He placed a neatly folded silk handkerchief on the table beside me. It was embroidered with the initials "BS."

"Clean yourself up," he said, his voice neutral. Then he and his assistant were gone.

I picked up the handkerchief. It smelled of cold wood and something clean, like winter air.

I watched his retreating back, my mind a swirl of confusion. Who was he? Why did he help me?

Somewhere at the edge of my exhausted mind, a faint, nagging sense of familiarity stirred:had I seen those eyes before? But the weight of the night crushed the thought before it could form.

My phone buzzed. A message from the gossip columnist I had contacted earlier.

"The press release has been written and published. You can take a look."

I clicked on the link he'd sent, the headline screamed:SHOCKER! Pro Athlete Carter Hayes Caught in Car with Fiancée's Sister, Affair Exposed!

Staring at the blurry but recognizable photo, I clenched the silk handkerchief in my fist. The fabric was soft, but my grip was iron.

Revenge was just beginning.

Faye Matthews POV:

I was still staring at the sickening headline on my phone when it lit up again.

The caller ID read "Father." Preston Reynolds.

I took a breath that felt like swallowing glass and answered. It wasn't comfort that greeted me. It was a roar.

"Faye Matthews! What the hell have you done? Do you have any idea what this does to our family's reputation!"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "My family? When your other precious daughter Sienna was screwing my fiancé on our anniversary, did you ask her what that would do to the family's reputation?"

Preston's voice turned sharp, venomous. "You shut your mouth! You don't know the truth! The person who saved Carter's life back then wasn't you, it was Sienna! You stole her credit!"

My world went white. My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed. I'm the one who saved Carter six years ago. How could I possibly be mistaken about who I saved? How dare they twist the truth like this!

"What did you say?" My voice trembled.

My adoptive mother, Carol Reynolds, snatched the phone. Her voice was just as shrill. "You ungrateful brat! We raised you for years, and this is how you repay us? Sienna let you have that honor because she didn't want you to feel bad, and you stab her in the back!"

Lies. All of it.

I remembered that summer. The cold water of the lake. Me, jumping in, dragging a cramping Carter to the shore. Sienna had been standing on the dock, screaming, too afraid of the water to even get her feet wet.

Now, to protect Sienna, they were rewriting history.

I was shaking with a rage so pure it left me speechless. In their eyes, everything I cherished was just something Sienna had let me borrow, something she could take back at any moment.

The line went dead. A moment later, Carter's call came through.

I swiped to answer, saying nothing.

His voice was tired, laced with a pathetic attempt at remorse. "Faye, I'm sorry... but what your father said is true. Sienna just told me. She was the one who had her friend call the ambulance. She's been quietly supporting me all this time... I misunderstood."

His pathetic excuse was so laughable it almost made me choke. A man could justify a three-year betrayal with a freshly baked lie.

"So, I was just an understudy, right?" I asked, each word a shard of ice.

The long silence on the other end was the only answer I needed.

I hung up and threw the phone onto the café table.

The weight of the humiliation, the sheer scale of the betrayal, was a tidal wave, pulling me under. I hadn't lost to Sienna. I had lost to a grand conspiracy they had all woven together, with me as the fool.

I slumped back in my chair, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, but it offered no warmth. The handkerchief with "BS" on it was crumpled in my hand, the silk nearly shredded by my grip.

The café door chimed. A barista approached, clearing his throat apologetically. "Miss, we're closing now. You'll have to leave."

I had nowhere left to go. Even this last refuge was shutting its doors on me.

I stood up, dazed. Where could I go? I couldn't go home. A hotel required an ID, and I didn't want Preston to find me.

I walked out of the café and stood in the cold, late-night rain. I felt like an orphan, abandoned by the entire world.

A black Bentley Mulsanne pulled up silently in front of me. The window glided down. It was the assistant of the man from the café.

"Miss Matthews," he said politely. "Mr. Sterling sent me to pick you up. He said it's not safe for a young woman to be on the streets of New York this late at night."

I looked at the warm light inside the car, and I hesitated. I knew nothing about this man. Getting into his car could be dangerous.

But then I looked back at the cold, dark rain behind me.

Could things get any worse?

I pulled open the door and got in.

The car was warm and dry. The assistant handed me a bottle of heated mineral water and then drove in silence, not asking a single question.

We didn't go to a hotel. We pulled up in front of an ultra-secure, top-tier apartment building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

I followed the assistant into a private elevator that went straight to the penthouse.

The elevator doors opened, and there he was. The man they called "Mr. Sterling." He had changed into casual loungewear, which softened his sharp edges, giving him a relaxed, domestic air.

He looked at me, his gaze calm. "My name is Blake Sterling,you can stay here tonight. It's safe. No one will find you."

I looked into his bottomless eyes, my mind filled with questions and suspicion. "Why are you helping me? What do you want?"

He looked at me with a flicker of unreadable nostalgia in his eyes, before his expression settled back into calm. Then he said something I never expected.

"I don't make losing deals. Helping you serves a purpose. And then,my lawyer will contact you ."

Faye Matthews POV:

I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window of the guest room, looking down at the glittering expanse of Manhattan. The luxury of this place was beyond anything I had ever imagined. It made me feel small and deeply uneasy.

The words of my adoptive parents, Preston and Carol, echoed in my mind, each one a needle prick to my heart.

They didn't just take my fiancé. They tried to erase my past, to redefine me as a contemptible thief.

I wouldn't let them. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I would have my revenge. I would take back what was mine.

But how? Preston controlled Aethelred Group, a giant in New York's business world. And I am nothing more than an exiled, helpless adopted daughter.

My gaze fell on the "BS" handkerchief I had washed and laid out to dry on the nightstand. Blake Sterling. The name flashed in my mind.

I knew nothing about him, except that a man who lived in a place like this was not simple.

His lawyer would contact me tomorrow. This was my chance. My only chance. I needed a force strong enough to stand against Preston.

I opened the laptop in the guest room and typed "Blake Sterling" into the search bar.

The results made me suck in a breath.

Blake Sterling, 29. Star captain of the NHL's New York Titans, known as the "Ice Tyrant" for his aggressive style and cold demeanor.

More importantly, he was the President of Apex Holdings, a vast global empire. His wealth and influence dwarfed Preston Reynolds'.

I stared at a photo of him in his hockey gear, his eyes sharp and piercing. It finally explained the intimidating aura he carried.

But why me? Why would a titan of industry and sports notice a pathetic, rain-soaked woman at the airport?

I couldn't figure it out. But one thing was clear: if I could form an alliance with him, I would have the leverage I needed to fight back.

I needed a plan. I couldn't just wait for his lawyer to make me an offer. I had to seize the initiative.

I picked up my phone and called my best and only friend, Chloe Montgomery.

"Faye? Oh my god, you finally called! I saw the news. Are you okay? Where are you?" Chloe's frantic voice filled the line.

I quickly told her everything that had happened, leaving out the part about Blake Sterling. I just said I was in a safe place.

Chloe exploded. "Those bastards! And your parents, who are so biased their brains are in their armpits! They're not human!"

"Chloe, I need your help," I said, my voice eerily calm, cutting through her tirade.

"Anything. I'll go to war for you."

"I need a file on Blake Sterling. As detailed as possible. Not the public stuff. I need private information-his business style, his weaknesses, even... his love life."

There was a pause on the other end. Chloe's voice turned serious. "Faye, what are you planning? Blake Sterling is not Carter. He's a very dangerous man."

"I know," I said. "But I have no other choice. I want to make a deal with him. A PR contract."

I explained my idea. I would use my current "news-worthy" status to sign a fake dating contract with him. He could use me to create a more relatable, talked-about public image. In return, I could use his influence to make Preston and Carter think twice before messing with me again.

It was a crazy plan. But I had to take the gamble.

Chloe was silent for a long time. "Okay," she finally said. "You're insane. But I'm insane with you."

"I have some contacts in the PR world. I'll see what I can dig up. But Faye, you need to be sure about this. Once you get involved with Blake Sterling, you can never go back to being a normal person."

"I can't go back anyway," I whispered, watching the sky outside begin to lighten.

After hanging up, I felt a flicker of strength return.

I went to the bathroom and looked at my reflection. Pale face, red-rimmed eyes. I splashed cold water on my face until I felt fully awake.

I had to be at my best for the upcoming "negotiation."

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. It was Blake's assistant. He brought a brand-new, perfectly-sized women's suit and a professional makeup kit.

"Miss Matthews, Mr. Sterling thought you might need these today," the assistant said respectfully.

I stared at the items, that feeling of being completely seen through washing over me again. This man seemed to anticipate my every move.