His Scorned Bride Turned Out To Be Legendary

"We're here to escort you home, Miss Morgan."

Fernanda Morgan surveyed the men in crisply tailored suits who stood before her.

"Your parents have been tirelessly searching for you over the years. Upon discovering your whereabouts, they promptly dispatched us to ensure your return," the man who appeared to be a butler announced, his smile radiating warmth. "Moreover, the Harper family is keenly anticipating your return. You are to be engaged to Mr. Harper once you return!"

"Alright then. Let's go," Fernanda agreed with a slight nod.

She collected her already-packed belongings and stepped into the vehicle.

The journey from the small town of Zhota to Esaham was a long one, spanning at least two days by car.

As dusk enveloped the sky, they pulled into another small town. The butler located a modestly appealing motel and proposed they stay overnight.

Fernanda's accommodation was at the far end of the second-floor hallway, Room 201-arguably the best room available. The butler and the rest of their group opted to stay on the lower floor.

The night was unusually warm and dry, rendering the room's aging air conditioner useless. Fernanda opened the window to invite a cool breeze, causing the curtains to dance gently in the evening air.

Fresh from her shower, she dimmed the lights and crawled into bed for the night.

Drifting into a light sleep, she was jolted awake by a disturbance outside.

A subsequent noise at the window snapped her to full alert. As she bolted upright, a shadowy figure burst through, launching itself onto her bed.

The freezing touch of a blade hovered at her neck as a low, threatening voice growled, "Don't you dare move."

Immobile, Fernanda's body clenched in fear.

The faint, iron tang of blood lingered on the man's sleeve-a grim reminder of his dangerousness. This unmistakable hint solidified the fact: this man was no one to mess with.

Outside, the commotion intensified. Shortly after, a forceful knock resonated at the door. A coarse voice demanded, "Is anyone there? Open up now!"

As the voice still echoed, the knife at Fernanda's neck dug in slightly deeper.

The man's voice dripped with malice as he warned, "Get rid of them, or you're as good as dead."

His right arm ensnared her waist, his left hand unwavering with the knife at her throat.

Through his firm grip and calculated movements, Fernanda realized he was deadly serious.

Cornered, she knew she had to play along for the time being.

"Sure." With a soft, steady voice, Fernanda reassured him. "It'll all be okay."

With no answer from inside, the outsiders used a master key to unlock the door and stormed in.

At the sound, the man jerked Fernanda's baggy T-shirt, pulling her down onto his lap and encircling her with his arm, forcing her to straddle him as he shifted position.

Right then, the door flung open, and a stark beam of flashlight flooded the room.

Fernanda let out a panicked scream, quickly bending over the man to obscure him from view.

"Sweetheart, what the hell is this place? How could anyone have the audacity to barge in like that?" Acting as though she was terrified, Fernanda held onto the man, her grip firm and desperate.

Her voice, usually sweet and enticing, now carried an edge of annoyance mingled with a breathless charm that was utterly captivating.

Suddenly, Fernanda felt the man beneath her tense up.

Seconds later, he encircled her with his arm and expertly flipped over, drawing the blanket over both their bodies.

As the blanket slid, its soft whispers merged with the steady rhythm of their breaths, painting a scene of understated sensuality.

Faces flushed with embarrassment, the group at the door stood stiffly, unprepared for the private display before them.

Nonetheless, the couple inside the room showed no signs of halting their intimate exchange.

The motel's security guard chuckled uncomfortably, "Looks like they're pretty busy... Maybe we ought to leave, huh?"

One of the men brushed past the guard and entered the room with a purposeful stride.

Fernanda's heartbeat skyrocketed as she heard the footsteps drawing near. Could they actually be contemplating unveiling them?

A chilling blade pressed against her side, its pointed tip grazing her skin, sending a shiver through her already tense body.

The footsteps halted next to the bed, and with a surge of courage, Fernanda leaned in closer to the man beneath her.

Pulled back gently, the blanket gave way to the flashlight's piercing light, exposing a glimpse of her delicate, bare back.

In the softness of the bed, their movements continued unabated. Fernanda's lips met his in a fervent kiss, her hair cascading down to obscure his face, while his hand gently caressed her side.

The subdued moans that slipped from their lips lent the scene an air of genuine intimacy.

Abruptly, a voice erupted from beyond the room, piercing the tranquility. "Boss! Something's going down out on the street!"

Instantly, the man at the bedside sprang to his feet and vanished through the door.

With the door slamming behind him, Fernanda disentangled herself and slipped from the bed.

Moonlight seeped through a crack in the curtains, casting delicate shadows across the room. The man watched as Fernanda's slender figure was silhouetted against the pale light.

Memories of earlier washed over him; his fingers traced her skin, so smooth and velvety. She had gripped his arms, her delicate skin pressing softly against his.

Her hair had brushed his face, each strand silky, carrying a subtle fragrance.

Her voice had been a soft melody, soothing to his ears.

This woman was serene and astute. Amid the intrusion, rather than succumb to panic, she had pressed her lips to his, a kiss so convincing it had deceived the pursuers.

Her lips had been refreshingly cool against his, and her technique was rather clumsy, only pressing her lips against his without any other movement-evidently her first kiss.

Breaking the ensuing quiet, the man's voice softened from its usual sternness to a rasp tinged with allure. "Was that your first kiss?"

With deliberate movements, Fernanda pulled out a piece of clothing from her suitcase, her voice sharp and cool. "This is none of your concern. I think it's time for you to leave."

All she desired at that moment was to hasten the man's departure.

Barely a moment before, when he had embraced her, his fingers had brushed against her back, lingering just a moment too long. The calluses on his fingertips were coarse, betraying more wear than most. His adeptness with a knife and his swift reflexes hinted at a background that was far from ordinary.

Cutting off the thought immediately, Fernanda dismissed any curiosity about his background.

From below, the blare of a car horn shattered the silence. The man stood up smoothly.

During their earlier intimacy, he had loosened his shirt, though his trousers remained crisply in place.

He buttoned his shirt as he approached the window and casually tossed something to Fernanda. "My apologies for any discomfort caused earlier. Consider this your compensation," he said with a nod.

With the graceful precision of a panther, he sprang out of the window.

Fernanda approached the window, peering out into the night where, under the faint illumination of the streetlights, she observed him scale the wall effortlessly. He navigated the ledges until he merged with the shadows.

She stooped to retrieve the object he had left-a sleek black card.

The night's disruptions had been met with suitable compensation-a fair recompense. Fernanda pocketed the card and drew the curtains closed.

The following morning, the butler approached Fernanda with a look of concern etched across his face. "Miss Morgan, I hope you managed to rest last night. There was an inspection for a burglary, which stirred quite the disturbance."

She shrugged casually and muttered, "It was fine."

As they drove, the butler stole glances at Fernanda through the rearview mirror. Reclined in her seat, she gazed out the window, her elegant profile cast in contemplative silence.

He mused quietly to himself that she did not embody the typical country-raised youth. Her calm sophistication and graceful demeanor set her apart, enhancing her natural charm and making her an effortlessly endearing presence.

After two days of travel, Fernanda stepped into the bustling streets of Esaham.

The city was a teeming metropolis, alive with vibrant streets and a relentless stream of traffic.

Shortly after 8 a.m., a stretch Lincoln limousine glided into the upscale estate of Dawn Villas, coming to a halt in front of a majestic three-story white villa.

Stepping gracefully from the limousine, Fernanda let her eyes wander over the grandeur of the building before her.

The villa, both opulent and imposing, was a testament to vast wealth. Her lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile as she gave it a scrutinizing glance.

This was her father Robert Morgan's residence. From humble beginnings, he had climbed to wealth and status with her late mother's support.

After amassing his fortune, Robert had coldly cast aside her mother, choosing to revel in a relationship with his mistress.

That woman-Michelle Morgan-had contributed nothing to his success, yet she now sat smugly in the seat Fernanda's mother had rightfully earned. She basked in the luxuries and respect that were never hers to claim. Worse still, Michelle had dared to flaunt her victory, parading her stolen life before Fernanda's grieving mother, a cruelty that had ultimately led to Fernanda's mother's untimely death.

To the world, Michelle was seen as Robert's second wife, a symbol of grace and charm. Michelle even had the audacity to claim she was Fernanda's real mother. But Fernanda knew better. Behind the polished veneer lay the truth, raw and unforgiving.

Fernanda's dark eyes momentarily hardened, a flicker of steely determination glinting within them.

Her mother was no longer here to seek justice, but Fernanda vowed she would deliver it on her behalf.

Just then, the villa's grand door swung open, revealing the pair responsible for the upheaval in her life.

Robert stood tall and pristine, the sharp lines of his tailored suit accentuating his stature. His gold-rimmed glasses reflected the warm light, adding an air of calculated sophistication.

At his side was Michelle, the very picture of elegance. Her fitted dress clung perfectly to her poised figure, exuding refinement and composure.

"Fernanda, you've come back." Robert greeted warmly, a smile playing on his lips as he waved her over. "Come in."

Fernanda's eyes darted downward, concealing the storm of emotions swirling within her. With a tentative step, she moved closer.

Robert, with an arm encircling Michelle's waist, introduced her with a gesture. "Fernanda, this is your mother."

With a casual wave toward the living room, he remarked, "And that's Erika, your sister."

On the couch, Erika Morgan was engaged with the television, only looking up when Fernanda approached. Her eyes narrowed judgmentally at Fernanda's plain dress, her face contorting into a sneer. With an exaggerated eye-roll and a sarcastic tone, Erika muttered, "That country bumpkin? Dad, she's no sister of mine."

Michelle approached Fernanda with a warm smile, linking her arm with Fernanda's. "Oh, Fernanda, Erika's just teasing. Pay her no mind. I've prepared breakfast for you. You must be starving. Let's have something to eat."

Silently, Fernanda slipped her arm free and strode with determined steps into the dining room.

Michelle paused, her smile faltering as a shadow of confusion crossed her face. She turned to Robert, her voice tinged with concern. "Robert, what's gotten into her?"

He sighed, his voice a blend of empathy and resignation, "Fernanda was raised in the countryside. She's a bit unrefined, that's all. It's nothing against you, Michelle."

Michelle nodded slowly, a soft smile reclaiming her features. "No worries," she murmured, her resolve firming. "I'll guide her as she settles in, teach her the essentials of elegance, and shape her into a poised young woman."

Robert gave a supportive pat on her back, his expression one of appreciative assurance.

In the dining room, Michelle seated herself next to Fernanda.

"Fernanda, you must try this beef," she insisted, placing a tender slice onto Fernanda's plate. "It's Erika's favorite."

Fernanda responded by promptly lifting the beef from her plate and dropping it into an empty plate with a clear look of disgust. "That's gross," she stated flatly, her voice void of any warmth.

The moment those words left Fernanda's lips, the entire table came to a standstill, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

Erika, her patience fraying, brought her hand down hard on the table and demanded, "Country bumpkin, what are you even saying? My mom was kind enough to offer you this beef, and you have the nerve to be rude about it?"

Fernanda met their astonished looks with a mask of feigned innocence. "I was clearly referring to the beef," she said with a deliberate pause. "It's raw and quite frankly, it looks unappetizing. What else could I possibly mean?"

"You..." Erika's retort faltered, caught in her throat. Admitting that she thought Fernanda was insulting Michelle was out of the question.

With a slow, calculated blink, Fernanda went on, "Unless, perhaps, you think there's something even more gross on this table than the raw beef?"

At this, Erika's face registered sheer astonishment, and for a split second, her voice seemed to have deserted her entirely. Not a single word could she muster.

It was Michelle who broke the awkward silence, interjecting smoothly, "Fernanda, the dish you're referring to is called beef tartare. It's a renowned delicacy made from top-notch beef and a pasteurized egg, typically found in high-end dining establishments. Perhaps it's something you've not had the opportunity to try before."

Her voice subtly implied that Fernanda's simpler past might not have included such refined culinary experiences.

Fernanda allowed a mischievous smirk to play at the corners of her lips and replied, "Our ancestors honed an array of sophisticated recipes and techniques. They certainly didn't refine these culinary arts for us to regress to consuming raw meat as if we were lost in the wild."

Michelle's expression briefly betrayed a touch of discomfort, yet she managed to sustain a polite smile, nodding her agreement somewhat rigidly. "You bring up a valid point, I'll give you that."

"I agree. I'm not fond of beef tartare either," Robert added with a nod, his gaze settling on Fernanda with evident pride. "I've always preferred classic tastes myself. It seems Fernanda has inherited that from me."

Fernanda offered a subdued smile, delicately wiping her fork on a napkin after attempting the beef tartare, then resumed eating with a composed demeanor, seemingly unaffected by Erika's glaring resentment.

Michelle suddenly ventured a soft query. "Fernanda, which university are you attending these days? Erika is at Luminary University, one of the top schools in the country. What about you?"

At this, Erika's face morphed into a self-satisfied grin.

Robert's tone grew cooler as he intervened on Fernanda's behalf. "I've spoken to a few contacts back in Fernanda's hometown. Currently, she isn't enrolled in any university."

Michelle's eyes went wide, her voice cutting through the silence as she blurted, "What did you just say? Fernanda isn't attending any university? That simply cannot be! What will happen when the Harpers find out? Mrs. Harper had just mentioned a few days ago that they were planning a grand welcome party for Fernanda upon her return. If they learn she's not enrolled anywhere, it could be disastrous."

Robert intervened, his tone laced with irritation, cutting through Michelle's rising panic. "Enough. I will take care of Fernanda's education myself."

From the corner, Erika couldn't suppress a snicker. Imagining Fernanda managing to sneak into some low-ranked school through connections was downright amusing to her.

The Harper family, celebrating the arrival of what Erika considered a rural nobody, was an absurd thought. Fernanda's crude and graceless demeanor would certainly earn their disapproval the moment they saw her.

Erika found Bobby Harper quite charming, but his family's insistence on honoring their promise to engage him to Fernanda and pushing Robert to reintegrate Fernanda into their circles seemed ridiculously foolish to her.

She was convinced that the Harper family would never develop an affinity for someone as lacking in education as Fernanda.

The mood around the table grew tense as they discussed Fernanda's academic prospects.

Amidst the awkward silence, Fernanda herself reached for a napkin, dabbing at her lips gracefully. "I have already registered to take the entrance exam for Esaham University," she announced, her voice steady and clear. "Assuming all goes well, I plan to attend there in the near future."

Erika was caught off guard and, for a moment, was speechless before she burst into unrestrained laughter.

The idea that Esaham University, the most prestigious in the nation where seats were as coveted as gold, would allow Fernanda to take the entrance exam was laughable. Clearly, this was a lie.

Robert's demeanor hardened, his eyes narrowing with a frosty glare. He furrowed his brow in disapproval and said sternly, "Fernanda, how could you lie about being granted the opportunity to take the entrance exam for Esaham University? Was lying the only lesson you picked up in your little hometown?"

"Honey, calm down," Michelle interjected quickly. "Fernanda was only trying to impress you."

Turning to Fernanda with a soft, maternal expression, Michelle remarked in a soothing tone, "There's no shame in skipping college, Fernanda. You don't have to pretend or feel lesser because of it. We're family here, and we don't judge you on such matters."

Her words, though gentle, were saturated with disbelief, assuming Fernanda was fabricating her story.

Fernanda, without a word of defense, simply pulled out her smartphone. After a few taps, she pushed it across the table towards the center.

Everyone leaned in to see the display. Erika's laughter stopped abruptly as she stared at the screen.

Displayed prominently was Fernanda's Esaham University entrance exam admission ticket, complete with her photo and name in bold.

Snatching the phone, Erika's eyes grew wide as she inspected it repeatedly. Her anger boiling over, she tossed it away and exclaimed, "This can't be real! You edited this, didn't you?"