From Jilted Bride To Ruthless Queen

On the ninety-ninth time I tried to marry the man I'd loved for twenty-five years, he stood me up at the altar. I went to the courthouse to marry a stranger out of spite, only to find out I was already married. My fiancé, Alexander, had forged the papers, wedding me to his driver to appease his mistress.

But his betrayal was more than just a lie. He locked me in a hospital morgue, forced me to kneel before her, and stood by as she had me stabbed and thrown off a cliff.

As I lay bleeding at the bottom of a ravine, I finally understood that our twenty-five years of love meant nothing. I was just an obstacle to be discarded.

But as I was about to die, a helicopter descended from the sky.

The man who came down was Case Dyer-my legal husband and Alexander's biggest rival. He saved my life, and I made a new vow.

I would fake my death, return as a queen, and burn Alexander's world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Avery Bright POV:

On the ninety-ninth time I tried to marry Alexander Holt, the man I had loved for twenty-five years, I found out I was already married-to a total stranger.

The priest, a kind man with gentle eyes that had shown increasing pity with each failed attempt, cleared his throat. "Are we ready to begin, Avery?"

I smoothed down the front of my simple white dress, the ninety-ninth one I' d bought for this occasion. The grand ballgown was packed away, a relic of the first time we were supposed to get married. Ninety-eight dresses later, I was done with extravagance. I just wanted it to be official.

"I'm ready," I said, my voice steady despite the familiar tremor in my hands. I lifted my phone. "I just need to call Alexander."

I dialed his number, the one I knew better than my own. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Avery?" His voice was rushed, distracted. I could hear the faint clatter of a keyboard in the background.

"Alex," I said, forcing a brightness I didn' t feel. "The priest is here. The chapel is waiting. Are you on your way?"

A heavy sigh on the other end. My stomach tightened into a familiar, cold knot. "Babe, I... I can' t make it today."

The excuses were always vague, always just plausible enough to make me feel insane for questioning them. "What is it this time, Alex?"

"It' s Kiara," he said, his voice dropping. "She' s... not doing well. She tried something again. I have to be there."

Kiara Dennis. My biggest fan, and my personal nightmare. The woman who was obsessed with the heroes in my graphic novels, and by extension, obsessed with the man who inspired them. The man whose tech company, Bright Star, was literally named after me.

"Alex, she does this every time," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "It' s emotional blackmail. She knows we' re getting married today."

"I know, I know, but what if this time it' s real?" he argued, the defensive edge to his tone cutting me deep. "I can' t have that on my conscience, Avery. You wouldn' t want that either."

Before I could respond, he cut me off. "Look, I have to go. The hospital just called. We' ll reschedule. I promise."

The line went dead.

I stood there, phone in my hand, the silence of the empty chapel pressing in on me. The priest' s sympathetic gaze was almost unbearable.

"Miss Bright," he began softly. "If I may be so bold... a man who truly wants to marry you wouldn' t let anything stop him, let alone ninety-nine times."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He didn' t understand. No one did. They all saw the perfect couple: Avery Bright, the successful graphic novelist from a prominent family, and Alexander Holt, the tech prodigy she' d known since kindergarten.

They didn' t know the Alexander who, at seven years old, had punched a boy twice his size for pulling my hair, then held my hand all the way home, his knuckles scraped and bleeding.

They didn' t know the Alexander who, in high school, spent every afternoon in the library with me, not because he needed to study, but because I did. He' d just sit there, a silent, steady presence while I sketched the characters that would one day make me famous.

They only knew the headlines. They remembered when another boy, a handsome football player, had asked me to prom. Alexander hadn' t just gotten jealous; he' d intercepted the boy in the hallway, his face a mask of cold fury, and warned him to stay away from me. That night, I found a hundred hand-written letters on my doorstep, each one detailing a reason why he loved me, why we belonged together. It was possessive, yes, but at seventeen, it felt like the most romantic thing in the world.

We became inseparable, the golden couple everyone envied. When he founded his company, he put my name in the sky. Bright Star Technologies. "Everything I do, Avery," he'd whispered, the night of the launch party, "is to build a world worthy of you."

I believed him. For twenty-five years, I had believed him.

Then Kiara Dennis entered our lives. It started innocently enough. Fan mail, comments on my social media. But it escalated. She somehow found our address, leaving gifts on our doorstep-gifts for Alexander. She' d show up at his office, at restaurants where we were dining. He was always polite but firm, turning her away, telling me she was just a troubled girl who saw him as one of my fictional heroes. I tried to believe him.

The real trouble began when I announced our engagement. The day the news broke, Kiara slit her wrists in the lobby of his office building.

That was the first time our wedding was postponed. He rushed from our rehearsal dinner to her hospital bedside.

Since then, it had become a pattern. A wedding date would be set. The press would catch wind of it. And like clockwork, Kiara would have a "crisis." An overdose. A car crash that was clearly intentional. Standing on the ledge of a bridge. Each time, Alexander would drop everything and run to her, leaving me standing alone at yet another altar.

My love had been whittled down to a raw nerve of pain and humiliation. This ninety-ninth time was the last straw. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't live waiting for a man who was clearly choosing someone else.

With a surge of desperate, angry energy, I grabbed my best friend Maria' s arm. "Come on," I said, my voice tight. "Let's go."

"Go where?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

"The courthouse," I declared, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm done waiting. I'll just get legally married to... to anyone. I don' t care. I just need this to be over."

It was a crazy, impulsive thought, born of pure desperation. Maria, seeing the wild look in my eyes, didn't argue. She just drove.

We stormed into the county clerk' s office. I slammed my ID on the counter. "I want a marriage license," I announced to the bored-looking woman behind the glass.

She took my ID, typed my name into her computer, and then frowned. She typed it again.

"Ma'am," she said, looking up at me over her glasses. "I can't issue you a marriage license. You're already married."

The world tilted on its axis. "What? That's impossible."

She turned her monitor towards me. And there it was, in black and white.

Spouse: Case Dyer.

The name meant nothing to me. A complete stranger. The date of the marriage was three months ago.

My mind reeled, scrambling for an explanation. Then, a memory surfaced, cold and sharp. Alexander, a few months back, asking for my ID and social security card. "It' s for the mortgage on the new beach house, babe," he' d said casually. "Just need to add your name to the deed."

Like a fool, I' d handed them over without a second thought.

The betrayal was so immense, so audacious, it felt like a physical blow. He hadn' t just postponed our wedding; he had legally bound me to someone else. To his driver. I remembered the name now, from a brief introduction a few weeks ago. The new guy. Case Dyer.

"Avery? Avery, what's wrong?" Maria' s voice was a distant buzz.

I pushed away from the counter, stumbling back. I had to find Alexander. I had to hear him say it to my face.

I drove to his office, but his assistant told me he wasn't there. "Mr. Holt is at the Serenity Wellness Center, Miss Bright. Miss Dennis had another episode."

Of course.

I raced to the private medical facility, my rage a hot, burning thing in my chest. A nurse at the front desk tried to stop me, telling me it was a private wing, but I pushed past her, following the sound of Alexander' s voice.

I stopped dead in the hallway, hidden by a large potted plant. Through the gap in a slightly ajar door, I saw him.

Kiara was in a hospital bed, looking pale and fragile. Alexander was sitting beside her, holding her hand. He leaned forward and gently, so gently, brushed a stray piece of hair from her forehead. The look on his face... it was the same tender, protective look he used to give me.

I saw him lift her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, his movements filled with a care that I hadn't felt from him in years. The memory of him doing the same for me when I broke my ankle in college felt like a lifetime ago.

Two nurses walked by, whispering. "Mr. Holt is so devoted to her. He' s here every time she has a scare. True love, you know?"

The words were like acid.

Then, I heard his friend, Mark, speaking from inside the room. "Alex, are you ever going to tell Avery the truth? This is getting out of control."

Alexander' s reply shattered the last fragments of my heart.

"What' s to tell?" he said, his voice cold and detached. "Avery and I... it' s been twenty-five years. It' s comfortable, it' s familiar, but it' s not... this." He looked down at Kiara, his voice softening. "Kiara needs me. Her love is all-consuming. It' s real. Avery' s love is just... habit."

"So what' s the plan, man?" Mark pressed. "You legally married her off to your driver. You can' t keep that a secret forever."

"It' s a temporary solution to placate Kiara," Alexander said dismissively. "She can' t handle the thought of me marrying Avery. So, technically, I didn' t. Once Kiara is stable, I' ll have the marriage with Dyer annulled, and I' ll break things off with Avery. It' s cleaner this way. For the wedding she thinks we're still having, I'll just get a fake certificate made. She'll never know the difference until I'm ready."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My legs gave out, and I sagged against the wall, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob.

Fake. He was going to give me a fake marriage certificate. After ninety-nine attempts. After twenty-five years. I was something to be managed, placated with a lie, and then discarded.

Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled away, his words echoing in my ears. He didn't love me. Maybe he never had.

I got in my car, my body shaking uncontrollably. My entire life, my entire identity, had been built around my love for him. And it was all a lie.

But as the tears subsided, a cold, hard fury began to crystallize in their place. My pride, the one thing the Bright family had instilled in me above all else, roared to life. I would not be a victim. I would not be discarded.

My hand stopped shaking. I picked up my phone, my fingers moving with a new, chilling purpose. I found the contact for his new driver in my recent calls list-the man Alexander had forced me to marry.

Case Dyer.

I pressed the call button.

He answered on the first ring. His voice was low, calm, and unexpectedly deep. "Miss Bright?"

"It's Avery Dyer now, isn't it?" I said, my own voice sounding foreign and sharp to my ears. "My husband told me to get a fake certificate, but I think I' d prefer the real one. I have a proposal for you, Mr. Dyer. Let' s make this marriage real."

There was a pause on the other end. Ten days. He said he needed ten days. I agreed.

Hanging up, I looked back at the cold, sterile building where the man I thought I knew was coddling his new love. The love story I had written for twenty-five years was over.

Alexander Holt, you have no idea who you just threw away.

Avery Bright POV:

The ten days felt like a lifetime suspended in alcohol. I found myself in a dimly lit bar, the kind of place Alexander, with his polished tastes, would have hated. The sticky floor and the scent of stale beer were a comfort, a world away from the pristine life he had curated for us.

"Another one, Avery?" Maria slid a fresh glass of whiskey across the bar towards me. "Maybe you should slow down."

I ignored her, taking a long swallow. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. "He used to love me, M. I know he did."

"Of course, he did," she said softly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

The bar's speaker crackled to life, playing a song that was popular our senior year of high school. The melody was a key turning a lock in my memory, and a wave of pain so intense it made me gasp washed over me.

It was the night of the car crash. A drunk driver had run a red light, t-boning my little convertible. I remember the screech of tires, the shattering glass, and then, Alexander's face, pale and terrified, leaning over me. He had been following me home, just to make sure I was safe. He' d held my hand in the ambulance, his grip a lifeline, refusing to let go even when the paramedics tried to move him. He had stayed by my hospital bed for three days straight, never leaving, whispering that he couldn't live without me.

Love wasn't a constant state. It was a series of moments, of choices. He had chosen to love me then. And now, he had chosen to stop. The thought was a shard of ice in my heart.

Maria eventually managed to pour me into a cab and get me home. My home. The house Alexander and I had bought together. The moment I stepped through the door, the scent of his cologne hit me, and I felt the alcohol-fueled numbness begin to wear off, replaced by a fresh wave of grief.

He was waiting for me in the living room, his arms crossed, a thunderous expression on his face.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Out," I slurred, kicking off my heels.

"Out where? Dressed like that?" He gestured to my dress, which suddenly felt too short, too tight. "You've been drinking."

He strode towards me, grabbing my arm and pulling me against him. His touch, which used to feel like home, now felt like a cage. "You know I don't like it when you go to those places, Avery. You're my fiancée. You represent me."

"Let go of me, Alex," I said, trying to push him away.

Maria, who had been hovering in the doorway, stepped forward. "Alexander, she's had a rough night. Just let her sleep it off."

"This is between me and Avery," he snapped without looking at her. He turned his cold gaze back to me. "Tell your friend to leave."

I met Maria's worried eyes and gave her a slight nod. "It's okay, M. I can handle this." I needed to face him alone.

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Alexander's grip tightened. "Are you trying to make me angry, Avery? Is that it? Because it's working."

"You want to know what's making me angry, Alex?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "The fact that you think you have any right to be angry at all. After you left me standing at the altar for the ninety-ninth time for her."

Before he could answer, a crash echoed from upstairs. Our bedroom.

Alexander immediately released me, his concern for me vanishing in an instant. He shoved me aside so hard I stumbled back against the wall, and took the stairs two at a time.

I followed, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. I already knew who I would find.

Kiara was sitting on the floor of our bedroom, surrounded by shattered glass. A small trickle of blood ran down her finger. She looked up at Alexander with wide, tear-filled eyes. A perfect damsel in distress.

"What are you doing in my house?" I demanded, my voice shaking with rage. "In my bedroom?"

"Avery, calm down," Alexander said, rushing to Kiara's side. "She was just released from the wellness center. She has nowhere else to go. I couldn't just leave her on the street."

He was crouched beside her now, dabbing at her finger with his handkerchief with an infuriating tenderness.

Then my eyes landed on the source of the broken glass. It was my mother's crystal music box, the last thing she gave me before she died. It lay in a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor.

The air left my lungs.

"I'm so sorry, Avery," Kiara whimpered, though her eyes held a triumphant glint. "It was an accident. I was just looking at it. I can pay for it."

Pay for it? How could she possibly pay for the memory of my mother's hands placing it in mine, her voice frail as she told me to always listen to my own music?

Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward and slapped her, the sound echoing in the silent room.

"Get out of my house!" I screamed.

Before the words were even out of my mouth, Alexander was on his feet. He grabbed me, pulling me back from Kiara with bruising force.

"Have you lost your mind?" he yelled, his face inches from mine. "She's fragile, Avery! Look at what you did! It' s always about you, isn' t it? The spoiled little princess who can't stand it when someone else gets a sliver of attention."

He dragged me out of the bedroom and into the master bathroom, his fingers digging into my arm. He shoved me under the showerhead and twisted the knob.

Ice-cold water rained down on me, drenching my hair, my dress, my skin. I gasped, the shock of it stealing my breath.

"Maybe that will cool you off," he snarled, his eyes blazing with a fury I had never seen directed at me before. "You need to get a grip, Avery. This childish, jealous act is getting old."

He slammed the bathroom door shut, leaving me shivering and soaked in the dark. The sound of the lock clicking into place was the sound of my last hope dying.

Through the door, I could hear him murmuring softly to Kiara, his voice laced with the concern he no longer had for me.

I sank to the cold tile floor, the water plastering my hair to my face. He had once promised to build a world for me. Now, he wouldn't even give me a world where I was safe in my own home. The cold wasn't just in the water; it was seeping into my bones, into the very core of my soul, freezing everything that was left of the girl who had loved Alexander Holt.

Avery Bright POV:

I don't know how long I sat there on the cold tile, shivering, before the water finally stopped. I stripped off the soaking dress and wrapped myself in a towel, my movements stiff and robotic. I walked to the guest room, avoiding my own, unable to face the scene of my final humiliation.

As I passed the master bedroom, the door was ajar. I couldn't help but look. Alexander was sitting on the edge of our bed, the bed we had shared for years, and he was gently wrapping a bandage around Kiara's finger. The lamplight softened the lines of his face, casting him in a gentle glow. The look in his eyes... it was the same look he had given me after he'd punched that boy for pulling my hair. Protective. Devoted.

And it was all for her. My replacement.

That night, I dreamt of us. Not the good memories, but the small, insidious moments I had ignored. The way his eyes would glaze over when I talked about my work. The impatience in his voice when I called him at the office. The countless "rescheduled" date nights. The cracks had been there all along; I had just been too in love to see them.

I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth as dry as sandpaper. Stumbling downstairs for a glass of water, I found Kiara sitting at my dining table, sipping tea from my favorite mug. She was wearing one of Alexander's dress shirts, which hung off her small frame, making her look even more waiflike and innocent.

She smiled at me, a lazy, triumphant smirk. "Good morning, Avery. Sleep well?"

I ignored her, heading for the kitchen.

"You know," she continued, her voice light and conversational, "Alex worries so much about you. He says you're like this beautiful, fragile vase that he has to protect from the world." Her smirk widened. "But even the most beautiful vase is just an object. Empty. It's people like me, people with real pain, who can actually make him feel something. I'm not the one destroying your relationship, Avery. I'm the one saving him from it."

"You need professional help," I said, my voice flat.

"Maybe," she conceded. "But I have something you don't. His heart." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He told me everything, you know. About the wedding. About how he couldn't bear to see me hurt, so he married you off to his driver just to get me off his back. A nobody for a nobody. It's almost poetic."

The confirmation, hearing it from her lips, was like swallowing glass. "A man who would do that," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "isn't a prize to be won, Kiara. He's a liability."

She laughed. "You're just saying that because you lost. You want to see how much you've lost? Let's play a little game."

Before I could react, she grabbed the kettle of boiling water from the counter. Her movements were swift, deliberate. She flung the scalding contents directly at my legs.

The pain was instantaneous and excruciating. I screamed, stumbling back as my skin erupted in angry, red welts. Blisters were already forming on my shin.

At that exact moment, Alexander walked in, his briefcase in hand. "What's going on?"

His eyes widened in alarm as he saw me on the floor, clutching my leg. For a split second, I saw a flicker of the old Alex, the one who would have rushed to my side.

But then Kiara burst into tears. "Alex! I'm so sorry!" she wailed, rushing to him. "I was just trying to make Avery some tea to apologize for last night, and she... she knocked it out of my hands! She said I wasn't worthy of being in her kitchen!"

I stared at her, dumbfounded by the audacity of her lie.

I watched Alexander's face. The initial shock and concern for me slowly cooled, replaced by a familiar look of weary disappointment. He was already choosing to believe her.

"Avery," he said, his voice laced with disapproval. "Was that really necessary? You know how clumsy she can be."

"She threw it on me, Alex!" I cried, the injustice of it all making the pain even worse. "Look at my leg! Check the security cameras if you don't believe me!"

He scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You want me to pull security footage in my own home to prove my fiancée is a bully? Do you have any idea how that makes you sound? You're starting to act just like your father, using these petty dramas to get attention."

The mention of my father was a low blow, and he knew it. My father, a man who had cheated on my dying mother and then had the gall to bring his mistress to her funeral. The wound was still raw, a source of deep shame and pain.

My hand moved before I could think. I slapped him, hard, across the face. The sound was sharp, final.

He stood there, stunned, one hand rising to his cheek. He didn't even seem angry, just... resigned.

Kiara chose that moment to let out another pained cry. "Alex, my hand... the one I cut last night... it hurts so much."

His attention snapped back to her instantly. He scooped her up in his arms, his face a mask of concern once more. "I'll take you to the hospital, get it checked out."

As he carried her past me, he paused. "The driver will be here in five minutes to take you to get that burn looked at," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn't even look at me.

Then they were gone.

I sat on my kitchen floor, surrounded by spilled water and the wreckage of my life, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. He was sending his driver-my fraudulent husband-to take me to the hospital. The irony was suffocating.

"I'm breaking up with you, Alexander Holt," I whispered to the empty room.

He didn't hear me. He was already gone, racing to the side of the woman he truly loved.

I pulled myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my leg, and hobbled to the hospital on my own. I wasn't going to wait for him anymore. Not for a ride, not for an apology, not for a love that had already died.