Obey the Monster, But Let's Revenge

My family was crumbling, clinging to the last vestiges of a once-great name.

My upcoming marriage to Ethan was supposed to save us, his new money cushioning our fall.

But rumors painted Julian Thorne, a reclusive tech billionaire, as a monster who ruined women, and his people chose my beautiful half-sister, Hailey, as his next "companion."

Then Ethan, my fiancé, panicked, pulling me into a desperate elopement.

In a cheap motel room, he revealed his true plan: I was to pretend we'd been secretly married before Hailey's selection.

He needed me as a convenient shield, a deniable wife, so he could keep Hailey, and her potential connection to Thorne, on a string.

My stomach churned; this wasn't love, it was a transaction.

Back home, my family, desperate to "save" Hailey, demanded I support Ethan's lie, threatening to cut off funding for my cherished art project.

They called me "strong" when they wanted me to bear their burdens, to be a doormat.

The disgust was a bitter taste in my mouth, realizing I was just a pawn in their cruel, self-serving games.

Why was I always the one sacrificed, always the "strong" one meant to suffer in silence?

The thought of living Ethan' s fabricated life, a life of quiet humiliation and deceit, suddenly felt infinitely worse than facing any rumored monster.

A cold fury rose in me, sharp and clean.

I would not be their pawn, their disposable currency.

Looking my father dead in the eye, I declared, "If Hailey is too delicate for Mr. Thorne, then I will go in her place."

I' d rather face a monster with my eyes open than be a fool' s secret.

The invitation felt like a lead weight in my hand, its expensive cardstock a cruel reminder of a world we barely belonged to anymore. Covington. A name that once meant something in New England, now just a faded echo. My upcoming marriage to Ethan was supposed to be a lifeline, his family' s new money a buffer against our old family' s slow financial bleed.

But rumors were poison, and the latest one was potent, Julian Thorne, the tech phantom of the Pacific coast, was looking for a companion. Not a wife, not a partner, a "companion." The whispers painted him as a monster, disfigured, a black widow who devoured reputations and spat out ruined women. His selection process was as mysterious as he was.

Then the news hit our small, anxious circle, Thorne' s people had chosen.

Not me, Ava.

My half-sister, Hailey.

Hailey, golden and favored, my father' s daughter by his second wife, the one who embodied all the social ambition our family desperately craved. I was the artist, the quiet one with the "sharp wit" that mostly got me into trouble.

That night, the night the news became official in our house, Ethan found me in the dusty conservatory, where I was sketching the wilting orchids, a fitting metaphor for our family' s fortunes.

He looked agitated, his usual smooth demeanor ruffled.

"Ava," he said, his voice urgent, taking my hands. They were cold.

"We need to elope, tonight, right now."

I stared at him, my heart giving a stupid, hopeful leap.

"Elope? Ethan, what are you talking about?"

"No time to explain, just trust me. Please, Ava. It' s the only way."

He was persuasive, desperate. I, a fool, thought it was love, a grand romantic gesture to sweep me away from the suffocating weight of my family' s expectations and Hailey' s looming triumph.

I said yes.

The ceremony was a blur, a sterile room in a town I didn' t know, a justice of the peace who looked bored. It felt hollow, not at all like the dreams I' d once had.

Afterward, in a cheap motel room that smelled of stale cigarettes and regret, Ethan finally dropped the bomb.

"Hailey," he began, pacing, "she was chosen by Thorne."

I nodded slowly. "I know. The whole world seems to know."

"You don't understand," he said, running a hand through his hair. "This changes everything. You have to tell everyone we were already married, before Hailey was chosen. Secretly married."

The room tilted.

"What? Why, Ethan?"

"To protect her!" he exclaimed, as if it were obvious. "If she' s already engaged, or rather, if her sister is married to the man she was supposedly seeing, it creates a scandal. Thorne won' t want her then. She' ll be 'unavailable.' It saves her from him, don't you see?"

He grabbed my shoulders. "Ava, you' ll be my wife, my true wife. We' ll have to deal with some awkwardness, sure, but I' ll manage Hailey. She' ll be fine."

Manage Hailey. The words hung in the air, ugly and revealing. He wanted me as a shield, a convenient, deniable wife, while he kept Hailey, and her potential Thorne connection, on a string.

My stomach churned. The cheap ring on my finger suddenly felt like a shackle.

"You want me to lie?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "To be your public excuse while you still pursue my sister?"

He had the grace to look away. "It' s not like that. It' s to protect her. And us, in the long run."

"Protect her from what, Ethan? A rich man? Or protect your access to her?"

The disgust was a bitter taste in my mouth. This wasn't love, this was a transaction, and I was the worthless currency.

When we returned to the Covington house the next morning, the air was thick with unspoken accusations and my father' s simmering fury. My stepmother, Eleanor, Hailey' s mother, looked at me as if I were something she' d scraped off her shoe. Hailey herself was a picture of distressed innocence, dabbing at perfectly dry eyes.

"You did what?" my father, Mr. Covington, finally roared, his face purple.

Ethan, ever the opportunist, launched into his carefully rehearsed explanation, painting himself as a man driven by desperate love for me, forced into a secret marriage by circumstances. He conveniently left out the part about using me to make Hailey "unavailable" for Thorne.

My father wasn' t buying all of it, but the part about Hailey being saved from Thorne appealed to his desperate need to see her secure a different kind of fortune, perhaps one less... cursed.

"Ava," my father said, his voice dangerously low, turning to me. "You will support this. You will say you and Ethan married weeks ago. This Thorne business... Hailey is too delicate for such a man, such a situation."

Eleanor chimed in, her voice saccharine. "Yes, Ava, dear. Think of your sister. She' s not strong like you."

Strong. They always called me strong when they wanted me to bear a burden.

Then came the real threat.

"That heirloom project of yours," my father said, his eyes cold. "The restoration of your grandmother' s botanical illustrations. It requires considerable funds. Funds that might dry up if you cause... complications."

My grandmother' s legacy, the one beautiful, untainted thing left from our family' s past. My art, my passion. He knew where to hit.

I looked at Ethan, his face a mask of feigned concern. I looked at Hailey, who was now examining her nails, bored with the drama now that the focus wasn't solely on her. I looked at my father and stepmother, their faces hard with calculation.

A cold fury rose in me, sharp and clean.

I would not be their pawn. I would not live Ethan' s lie.

"No," I said, my voice clear and steady in the sudden silence.

Ethan' s head snapped up. "Ava..."

"If Hailey is too delicate for Mr. Thorne," I continued, meeting my father' s gaze, "and you need a Covington to go, then I will go in her place."

A collective gasp. Hailey looked horrified.

"Ava, don't be ridiculous!" my father sputtered.

"Am I?" I asked, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "You want to save Hailey from a supposed monster. Fine. Send me. I' d rather face a monster with my eyes open than be a fool' s secret."

Eleanor looked like she might faint. "But... you' re married!"

"Am I?" I looked directly at Ethan. "Or was that just another part of the plan?"

He flinched.

The fight was ugly, vicious. They cajoled, threatened, pleaded. Ethan tried to pull me aside, whispering promises he clearly didn' t mean. My father spoke of duty, of family, of the shame I would bring. Eleanor wept crocodile tears for Hailey' s lost opportunity, then for my certain doom.

Through it all, I held firm. If they were so desperate to send a Covington, it would be me. The one they considered expendable. The one who wouldn't be missed as much.

The irony was, I was genuinely terrified. But the thought of living the life Ethan had planned for me, a life of quiet humiliation and deceit, was infinitely worse.