No Love, Only Ruin

My father was jailed, our family disgraced.

To save my dying mother, I married Ethan Blackwood, the CEO who ruined us.

Our cold wedding; Ethan instantly declared it no love match.

My father died a week later.

I begged for mercy, but Ethan revealed my father drove his own to suicide-now I was his prisoner, his gilded cage.

For five years, I lived as a beautiful facade, a tormented shadow.

Ethan's relentless abuse, and his mistress Isabelle, a venomous fixture.

Pregnant, a faint hope stirred.

But Isabelle faked illness, accusing me of poison.

Ethan believed her.

He forced an injection, and I lost our child.

My world shattered.

That last glimmer of light extinguished.

My mother' s pact became a cruel joke.

He made me swallow contraceptives, then burned the small memorial I made for our son.

"He was your son too!" I screamed.

"How could you?"

Truly nothing left.

I walked out and climbed to the Starlight Observation Deck, ready to jump.

Ethan appeared, frantic, revealing our son' s actual ashes were safe.

Too late.

"I'm tired, Ethan. So tired," I whispered, then jumped.

I survived, but my will to live was gone.

Ethan finally saw the monster he' d become, his revenge's devastating price.

He begged for atonement.

But as snow fell, my last words: "If there's a next life, let's not meet."

My father was in prison, our family name ruined, every asset seized by Blackwood Holdings.

To stop them from hounding my sick mother to her grave, I agreed to marry Ethan Blackwood.

He was the CEO of Blackwood Holdings, a man whose family, I was told, my father had wronged years ago, leading to their ruin and the death of Ethan' s father.

I didn't know the details then, only that this marriage was the only way to get my family some peace.

Our wedding was a quiet affair, no guests from my side, only Ethan' s cold associates.

That night, in the vast, opulent bedroom of his estate, he didn' t touch me.

He sat in an armchair, watching me, a chilling smile on his lips.

"You look beautiful, Ava," he said, his voice smooth, but his eyes were like ice.

"But don't think this is a marriage of love."

A week later, the phone call came.

My mother' s nurse, her voice trembling, told me my father had died in prison. "Heart failure," the official report would say.

I dropped the phone, a scream caught in my throat.

I ran to find Ethan, finding him in his study, looking over city lights.

"My father," I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "He's dead. Please, Ethan, you have what you wanted. My family is broken. Show some mercy."

Ethan turned slowly, his face unreadable.

Then, he laughed, a dry, harsh sound.

"Mercy?" he said, stepping closer. "You want mercy from me?"

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Your father, Arthur Monroe, destroyed my family, Ava. He drove my father to suicide after bankrupting him, shaming him publicly."

His voice was low, venomous.

"He took everything from us. Our name, our honor, our future. He metaphorically castrated my father, and by extension, me, from the life we were supposed to have."

I stared at him, horrified, the pieces clicking into place. The vague stories, the sudden aggression from the Blackwoods.

"I was a boy when it happened," Ethan continued, his eyes burning into mine. "I swore I would make him pay, make all of you pay."

"Marrying you was the first step, Ava. Watching your hope die, that's part of it."

He let go of my arm, and I stumbled back.

"You will live here, in this house, as Mrs. Blackwood. You will want for nothing material. But you will be my prisoner."

He gestured around the lavish room. "This is your gilded cage."

"Every day, you will remember what your father did, and what I am doing to you in return."

His face was a mask of cold triumph. "This is my revenge, Ava. And it has only just begun."

I sank to the floor, the world spinning. My marriage, my father's death, it was all part of his calculated vengeance.

My life, as I knew it, was over.

For five years, I lived in that cold, sprawling estate.

Ethan was true to his word. I was a prisoner, surrounded by luxury but starved of kindness.

He paraded me at necessary social functions, a beautiful, silent wife on his arm, a testament to his power.

At home, he subjected me to a relentless barrage of psychological torment.

Sometimes he ignored me for weeks, making me feel invisible.

Other times, he' d unleash cruel words, reminding me of my father' s alleged sins, of my family' s disgrace.

He controlled every aspect of my life, from who I could speak to (no one from my past) to what I read.

The staff, loyal to him, treated me with thinly veiled contempt.

My only lifeline was a promise I' d made to my mother on her deathbed.

She had passed away six months after my father, her heart broken by grief and the ongoing persecution Ethan subtly orchestrated, even after our marriage.

"Ava," she' d whispered, her hand frail in mine, "promise me you'll try. Try to find a reason to live, for five years. Just five years. After that, you are free to choose."

That five-year pact became my mantra, the invisible thread holding me together.

I counted the days, the weeks, the months.

Two years into this nightmare, Isabelle Vance appeared.

She was younger, a striking socialite with ambition burning in her eyes. Ethan made no secret of their affair.

Isabelle moved into the estate, not officially, but she was always there, a constant, venomous presence.

She delighted in undermining me, her words like little barbs, always delivered with a sweet smile when Ethan was near, turning into open scorn when he wasn't.

She saw me as an obstacle to becoming the official Mrs. Blackwood.

Then, a flicker of something unexpected happened. Four years into my sentence, I discovered I was pregnant.

A child. Ethan' s child.

A part of me, long dormant, stirred with a desperate, fragile hope. Maybe a child could change him, could bridge the chasm of hate.

When I told Ethan, his reaction was unreadable. A flicker of something-surprise? Shock?-crossed his face before it settled back into its usual cold mask.

"A Blackwood heir," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "We shall see."

Isabelle, however, was furious. Her jealousy was palpable.

She began a campaign of subtle sabotage. Small "accidents," items disappearing, rumors spread among the staff about my "instability."

She' d feign illness when Ethan was due to spend any time with me, ensuring his attention remained on her.

I tried to ignore her, focusing on the tiny life growing inside me. This child was my secret reason to endure, beyond even my mother' s pact.