The Art of Ruining Him: Married for revenge. Falling for the devil

CHAPTER ONE

You know that feeling when the whole room is watching, but no one says a word?

Yeah. That.

Zayden's hand had just left mine. He went off to speak with some investor from Dubai or somewhere just as posh, and I was left standing there in the centre of the ballroom, heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet, smile still plastered on my face like some pretty little doll.

Then I heard her voice.

"Wah, Elara. You really can act, ah?"

I turned. Clarisse. Red dress, slit so high it was practically illegal, standing there like she owned the night. She was holding a champagne flute like it was her best friend and cocking her head like she'd been waiting to ruin someone.

Unfortunately, that someone was me.

"Clarisse," I said, trying to keep my tone flat. "You look... dramatic."

She grinned. "Only way to look, babe."

Then she stepped closer. Too close. I could see the wicked glint in her eye before she even opened her mouth again. And when she did? Wah. She didn't just talk. She performed.

"Everybody ah! I've got a story to tell," she said loudly, raising her glass.

Heads turned. Conversations died. The string quartet didn't even miss a beat, but every ear in the room leaned in.

"Let me tell you all about true love." She placed a hand on her chest like she was about to sing national anthem. "It's when a man marries you not because he loves you, but because he needs you."

My stomach dropped.

She smirked. "Right, Elara?"

The whispers began immediately. I could feel them crawl up my spine.

"She's bluffing," I said through gritted teeth.

Clarisse didn't flinch. "Oh? Then maybe you want to explain to all your atas friends here why Zayden's lawyers were at your house two weeks before the wedding with a merger contract?"

I blinked.

She did not just say that out loud.

The crowd shifted. I could see someone in the back already pulling out their phone. Great. Tomorrow, I'd be all over TattleSG. "Heiress Elara Lim: Bought, Sealed, Delivered."

Clarisse leaned in. "You married him to save your father's failing company. Don't play saint here, lah."

I wanted to scream. To slap her. To vanish. But most of all, I wanted Zayden to be beside me-to shut her up like only he could.

"Clarisse, shut up."

She tilted her head, eyes fake-wide. "Why? Truth hurts, issit?"

"Why are you doing this?" I hissed. "What do you want?"

"Recognition," she said smoothly. "Because while you were busy playing Mrs CEO, I was the one he used to call at 2 a.m. You think you're special? Girl, please."

The room gasped. I swear I heard someone whisper "Aiyo, scandalous!"

My hands were shaking. My vision blurred at the edges.

I felt stripped.

This was supposed to be my night. Our night. The gala Zayden and I hosted to show we were the perfect match. High society's golden couple.

Now? I felt like gold spray paint on plastic.

Just then, I heard the familiar click of polished shoes behind me. My heart leapt-Zayden.

"Clarisse," his voice cut through the tension like glass. "You've said enough."

She turned, ever so slowly. "Oh look, the groom arrives. Should I curtsy?"

He ignored her. His eyes met mine, unreadable. "You okay?" he asked me, quietly.

Was I?

No.

I was humiliated. My marriage-our business-was now gossip for an entire room of elites.

But I nodded.

Then Clarisse laughed. "Wah, so touching. But Zayden, don't act lah. She's your deal, your strategy. Not your love. Or have you forgotten what you told me the night before your wedding?"

My breath caught. The crowd held theirs too.

Zayden didn't respond.

Clarisse turned to me, eyes gleaming with one last blow. "He told me... even if he married you, I'd always be the one he wanted in his bed."

The silence was deafening.

I felt like the ground beneath my feet just opened and swallowed me whole.

I stepped back. I could feel the burn of humiliation on my skin. I turned to leave, because what else was left?

But then her voice rang out, one final knife. "Walk out, Elara, and you walk away from everything. The title, the deals, the life. Let's see how long your pride feeds you."

I froze.

My fists clenched. My pulse was roaring in my ears.

Slowly, I turned back.

And with the calmest voice I could muster, I said, "Better to starve on truth than feast on your filth."

Then I walked.

Not because I was weak.

But because if I stayed a second longer, I was going to show them all what real scandal looked like.

The ride home from the gala was drenched in a silence so thick, it clawed at my throat.

Zayden's hand rested on the gear, his face unreadable, his jaw tight enough to snap diamonds. I didn't ask him anything-I couldn't. Not with Clarisse's words still looping through my head like a scratched record.

"Tell them, Elara. Tell them how this wedding was a deal! How it had nothing to do with love and everything to do with greed!"

My fingers trembled in my lap. The press had been quick to lap it up-flashes firing, microphones shoved forward. The room had spiraled into noise, stares, and whispers. Zayden hadn't said a word. He simply took my hand and led me out.

Like nothing had happened.

Now, in the cold confines of the elevator heading up to our penthouse, I stole a glance at him. He looked... calm. Too calm. I almost preferred him shouting. At least then I'd know he gave a damn.

We stepped into the apartment, shoes clicking on marble, the luxury of it all suddenly feeling suffocating. I moved first, heading straight for the bedroom.

"Elara."

I paused, hand on the doorknob. His voice had that edge again. Low, commanding, familiar.

"I didn't know she'd do that," he said.

"And you think that makes a difference?"

He didn't respond.

I turned slowly. "Clarisse just humiliated me in front of half of Singapore, and you-" my voice cracked, "you didn't flinch. Not a twitch. Is that how little this all means to you?"

Zayden stepped closer, the shadows from the chandelier catching the sharp angles of his face. "What did you want me to do, Elara? Deny it? Punch someone? Throw a drink?"

I didn't answer. Mostly because I didn't know either.

"I told you from the beginning," he added, quieter now. "This wasn't supposed to be complicated."

That did it. I laughed, bitter and cracked. "Right. A marriage to fix your public image, seal your business deal, and make your investors clap for your happy ending. Very uncomplicated."

Something in his jaw ticked, but he didn't speak.

"Goodnight, Zayden."

This time, he let me go.

The room felt colder than usual. I peeled out of my gown with shaking hands, letting the navy silk puddle to the floor. My makeup was half-smudged and my hairpins a tangled mess, but none of that mattered.

I walked to the dresser, needing something, anything; to distract myself. And then I saw it.

A white envelope. Resting where my perfumes usually stood.

No stamp. No address.

Just my name, Elara, written in bold, unfamiliar handwriting.

My fingers hovered for a moment before I picked it up, pulse thudding loud in my ears.

Inside was a single folded note. Clean, no smudges.

I opened it slowly, expecting a tabloid threat, or maybe a warning from Clarisse.

But no. This was worse.

"Ask your husband what this deal meant to your father."

My breath hitched. The room spun.

For a second, I thought I'd imagined it. I read it again. Then again.

My father.

Dead for years now, buried with debts and disgrace, the once-proud man reduced to whispers and pity. I remembered his trembling hands. The days he spent trying to save the company. The quiet begging to someone over the phone.

Was that someone... Zayden's father?

Suddenly, it all clicked. The rushed deal. Zayden's cold proposal. The way his father had smiled at our wedding like he was collecting a prize.

A scream pressed against my ribs, but I swallowed it down.

I looked at the envelope again. No logo. No mark. Nothing to trace.

But it didn't matter. The damage was done.

This wasn't just about a marriage of convenience anymore.

This was a war.

And I was done being the pawn.

The envelope feels heavier now. I've been holding it for minutes, maybe more. My fingers hesitate at the flap, like whatever's inside might explode if I open it. But my curiosity, as always, wins.

I pull it open.

A photograph slides out first. Old. Yellow-tinted. A little crumpled. It's my father, standing beside a familiar man-taller, broader... colder.

Mr. Wu.

Zayden's father.

They're shaking hands.

But my heart nearly stops when I see the second item. A newspaper clipping. Folded, neat like a knife. I smooth it out on the dresser.

LIM GROUP COLLAPSES UNDER DEBT AND FRAUD ALLEGATIONS

The headline screams in silence. My breath catches.

I don't realise I'm on the floor until the corner of the dresser jabs into my hip. Lim Group. My father's legacy. Torn down and disgraced. I remember his voice, the way it trembled near the end, how he stopped mentioning "meetings" and started saying "favors." I remember how he came home with quiet eyes and fake smiles.

He used to say, "Elara, in business, trust is more expensive than gold."

I grip the edge of the dresser, forcing myself to breathe.

A whisper from the past slips into my head-faint, like a thread being pulled loose. A conversation I wasn't meant to hear. I must've been eighteen. Sitting on the stairs just outside his office.

"Mr. Wu, I'm begging you," my father's voice cracked, "this merger-my people won't survive if you push the interest higher. We've already sold half the properties to stay afloat."

There was silence.

Then Mr. Wu: "Business isn't built on sympathy, Wang. It's built on strength. If your house is too weak, maybe it deserves to fall."

I remember holding my breath, pressing my forehead to the banister.

And that memory, that damn memory, is now real. On paper.

I stumble to my feet and grab my phone. My hands are shaking as I scroll through contacts.

"Wen Qi," I say aloud to steady myself, and hit call.

She picks up after two rings.

"Elara? Everything okay?"

I don't have time for niceties. "I need information. On Zayden. And his father. Fast."

There's a pause. "Information?"

"Yes. Specifically anything connected to Lim Group. Something shady. Anything involving debt, partnerships, or... sabotage."

"Elara..." her tone shifts, soft but guarded, "why are you digging into this now?"

"Because my father didn't die just a broke man," I whisper. "He died betrayed."

Another pause. Longer.

"I'll see what I can find. But be careful, okay?"

I nod, forgetting she can't see me. "Thanks."

The moment the call ends, I drop the phone and turn back to the dresser. I fold the newspaper clipping again-this time clumsier-and shove it back into the envelope with the photo.

I don't even get the drawer fully shut when the door opens.

"Elara."

Zayden.

My breath hitches.

I spin, just in time to see his eyes flick toward my hands-still lingering near the drawer handle. I snatch them away, too late.

His expression hardens. Gone is the charming smirk, the indifferent stare. This version of Zayden is calculating, sharp, a man trained to spot the smallest shift in the air.

His voice slices through the tension. "What did you just hide?"

The room contracts.

I glance at the drawer. Then back at him.

"Nothing."

He walks in slowly, controlled, like a predator approaching a sound in the dark. "Lying doesn't suit you, Elara."

I don't move. I don't blink.

Because I know... if I open my mouth now, I might just scream.