To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival

Adelaide POV

The crystal chandelier above the Grand Ballroom of the Hebert Estate glittered like a thousand judging eyes, casting a harsh, artificial light on my humiliation. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and the metallic tang of betrayal.

I stood in the shadows of a marble pillar, my fingers clutching the rough fabric of my ill-fitting grey dress. It was a stark contrast to the emerald silk and diamonds adorning the other women-the wives and daughters of the *Cosa Nostra*. I was neither. I was Adelaide Rice, the collateral, the ward, the girl Andrew Hebert had promised to protect.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Andrew's voice boomed through the microphone, silencing the murmur of the crowd.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. *Don't do it, Andrew. Please.*

He stood on the raised dais, looking every inch the golden heir of the Hebert family. But his eyes, usually warm when he looked at me in private, were now fixed on the woman beside him. Fawn Garrett. She preened under his gaze, her red lips curved in a smirk that I knew was directed solely at me.

Andrew placed his hand possessively on the small of Fawn's back. "I am proud to announce the union of our two families. A toast to my beautiful fiancée, Fawn Garrett."

The words were a physical blow. A dagger twisted into my chest.

*Fiancée.*

Applause erupted, a thunderous sound that drowned out the shattering of my world. Fawn's laughter rang out, sharp and triumphant, the same laugh she used when she cornered me in the hallways. Andrew hadn't just chosen a political alliance; he had chosen my tormentor. He had paraded me here tonight to show the world that I was nothing more than a discarded toy.

I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in.

I turned and ran. I didn't care who saw. I pushed past the waiters with their trays of champagne, ignoring the whispers, and fled into the dimly lit corridor. I didn't stop until I burst into the library, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind me, muffling the sounds of the party.

Here, in the silence of dust and old leather, my legs finally gave out. I sank to the floor, gasping for air, tears burning my eyes.

"A waste of tears for a man like him."

The voice was deep, dark, and vibrated through the floorboards.

I froze, looking up.

From the deepest shadows of the bookshelves, a figure emerged. Damien Maddox. The Capo of all Capos. The Dark Don. He was a myth made flesh-tall, broad-shouldered, radiating a lethal power that made the air in the room drop ten degrees. His eyes were voids of darkness, devoid of mercy.

He shouldn't be here. The Maddox family was a predator to the Hebert's prey.

He extended a hand, holding a pristine white handkerchief embroidered with a black 'M'.

I stared at it, trembling. Before I could reach for it, the muffled sound of Andrew's voice drifted through the door, continuing his toast. "...to a future built on strength..."

That voice. The voice of the man who lied to me. It broke something fundamental inside me.

My knees buckled, and I began to fall. But I never hit the ground.

Damien moved with a speed that was terrifyingly inhuman. His arm, hard as steel, wrapped around my waist, hauling me up against his chest. He smelled of rain, expensive scotch, and danger.

I looked up into his cold, predatory face. He was the monster mothers warned their daughters about. He was the only thing powerful enough to burn the Hebert legacy to ash.

"Take me with you," I whispered, the plea tearing from my throat.

Damien stared down at me, his gaze intense, calculating. "Once you walk out that door with me, Adelaide, you can never come back. You will belong to me."

I didn't hesitate. I had nothing left to lose. "Take me."

He nodded, a grim satisfaction settling over his features. He guided me not to the main doors, but to a servant's passage hidden behind a faded tapestry. As we passed a blinking security camera, he pulled me into his coat, shielding my face, claiming me before we even left the grounds.

Outside, the night air was biting. A matte black, armored Maybach waited like a beast in the dark.

The ride was a blur of city lights and silence. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I reached for the crystal decanter in the center console, pouring myself a glass of amber liquid. I drank it in one burning gulp. The alcohol hit my empty stomach, mixing with my rage, clarifying my thoughts into a single, razor-sharp point.

I didn't just want to escape. I wanted to destroy. I needed a shield that Andrew Hebert would fear to look upon.

The car stopped. We took a private elevator to a penthouse that overlooked the city like a throne.

Inside, the space was cold, modern, and imposing-just like its owner. I turned to Damien. The alcohol gave me a courage I didn't possess.

"Marry me," I blurted out.

Damien didn't blink. He didn't look surprised. It was as if he had been waiting for those exact words.

He walked to the wall, sliding aside a modern abstract painting to reveal a safe. He punched in a code, the beep echoing in the silent room. He pulled out a document and a heavy fountain pen, placing them on the marble console table between us.

"Sign," he commanded. His voice was low, leaving no room for argument. It was a Don's command.

I looked down. The words *Marriage Contract* stared back at me in bold letters.

He had this ready. The realization should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like destiny.

I picked up the pen. My hand shook, but I forced the nib to the paper. With a jagged, desperate scrawl, I signed my life away.

*Adelaide Rice.*

No. *Adelaide Maddox.*

The pen clattered to the table. The adrenaline, the alcohol, and the heartbreak crashed over me all at once. The room spun. Darkness encroached on my vision.

The last thing I felt was Damien's strong arms catching me again, holding me tight as I slipped into the abyss. I had sold my soul to the devil, and now, he had come to collect.

Adelaide POV

Consciousness returned in slow, painful waves, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of a headache behind my eyes. I wasn't in my cramped room at the Hebert estate. The air here was different-crisp, filtered, and laced with a scent that made my inner alarms ring: rain, expensive scotch, and raw masculinity.

*Damien.*

I sat up, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. I was wearing a men's silk shirt, the fabric swallowing my frame. Panic flared, cold and sharp, until I looked at the bedside table.

There, resting on the dark ebony wood, was a stack of items arranged with military precision. A black credit card with gold lettering. A sleek, encrypted smartphone. And a ring.

My breath hitched. I reached for the ring, my fingers trembling. It was heavy, ancient gold, set with a blood-red ruby engraved with the Maddox family crest-a lion rampant. It wasn't just jewelry; it was a shackle.

I slid it onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly.

Next to it lay a set of clothes: soft cashmere, designer denim, and lace underthings. I dressed in a daze, the terror mounting with every button I fastened. Everything fit as if tailored for me. He knew my size. He knew my taste. How long had the Dark Don been watching me from the shadows?

The phone buzzed. I picked it up, the screen illuminating a single text message from a contact labeled *Underboss*.

*Legal documents filed. Welcome to the family, Mrs. Maddox.*

The reality of it crashed into me. I had traded a weak tyrant for a king of monsters.

The phone buzzed again, but this time it was a call. The screen flashed a name that used to make me flinch: *Andrew Hebert*.

Dozens of missed calls and texts cluttered the notification bar.

*Where are you?*

*You're making a scene, Adelaide.*

*Come back, and I might forgive you.*

Forgive me? Rage, hot and purifying, surged through my veins, displacing the fear. Andrew thought he still held the leash. He didn't realize the leash had been severed by a predator far deadlier than him.

I didn't answer. I didn't type a reply. With a satisfying tap, I blocked the number.

*Goodbye, Andrew.*

*

Two hours later, I sought refuge in the one place that had always been my sanctuary: the university library. But even here, the shadows seemed deeper, the silence heavier.

"You must be the girl who made my father lose his mind."

I jumped, spinning around.

Leaning against a stack of history books was a girl who could only be a Maddox. Gracelyn. She had the same dark intensity as Damien, though her eyes held a spark of mischievous curiosity rather than an abyss. She was the Mafia Princess, untouchable and terrifying in her own right.

She held out a black envelope. "He told me to give you this. Unlimited limit. And he said if you don't buy something, he'll buy the store."

I took the envelope, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I... I don't need his money."

Gracelyn raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "So, what are you? His mistress? His charity case?"

"I'm his... art consultant," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "He hired me to appraise a new acquisition. This is an advance."

Gracelyn's gaze raked over me, lingering on the cashmere sweater that smelled faintly of her father's house. She didn't buy it. I could see the skepticism in the tilt of her head. But she just smirked.

"Right. 'Art consultant.' Well, come on then. Let's go spend your 'advance'."

She led me out of the library and toward the student parking lot. I expected her to walk to her own car, but she stopped in front of a massive flatbed truck idling in the center of the lot.

Two men in dark suits-Maddox soldiers-stood at attention. On the back of the truck sat a car that looked more like a weapon than a vehicle. A silver Aston Martin, gleaming under the midday sun.

"No," I whispered, stepping back. "I can't accept this."

"Don't be stupid," Gracelyn said, her voice bored but amused. "It's armored. Bulletproof glass, reinforced chassis. My father doesn't do 'safe' halfway. And besides, a Don's Command doesn't have a 'no' option. You refuse this, and there will be two of them tomorrow."

Students were stopping, phones out, whispering. The flash of cameras blinded me. I wanted to disappear.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, holding out the keys with a bow of his head.

I looked at the keys, then at the ring on my finger. They were the same. Symbols of ownership.

"Take it," Gracelyn urged, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. She grinned, a shark-like expression that mirrored her father's. "Congratulations, Mrs. Maddox."

The title hung in the air, louder than a gunshot. Every head turned. The whispers exploded into a roar.

I took the keys, the cold metal biting into my palm. There was no hiding now. The world knew who owned me.

Adelaide POV

The campus coffee shop was a hum of espresso machines and indie pop, a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating silence that had settled over me in the parking lot. I sat in the corner booth, wrapping my hands around a paper cup as if the heat could thaw the ice in my veins.

Gracelyn sat opposite me, her dark eyes glued to her phone. Her thumb scrolled with aggressive speed, her perfectly manicured nails tapping a frantic rhythm against the screen.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, turning the phone toward me. "Look at this trash."

On the screen was a photo of Fawn Garrett, Andrew's fiancée, clinging to his arm like a parasitic vine. They were at some brunch, smiling that practiced, plastic smile of the elite. The caption read: *Loyalty can't be bought. So glad the trash took itself out.*

A dull ache throbbed in my chest. It wasn't heartbreak-Andrew had killed that long ago-but the humiliation burned. Fawn was marking her territory, pissing on my grave to make sure everyone knew I was gone.

"I've already commented vomit emojis on her last three posts," Gracelyn said, her voice dripping with venom. "And I DM'd her asking if her plastic surgeon offers refunds for personality transplants."

"Let her talk," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," Gracelyn snapped, though her eyes softened when they met mine. "Nobody messes with my friends. Especially not a wannabe socialite like Fawn."

I shifted uncomfortably, the guilt of my deception prickling my skin. *If she knew who I really was to her family, she wouldn't be defending me.*

Nervously, I tugged at the silk scarf around my neck, the fabric feeling too tight, too hot. As I adjusted it, the silk slipped.

Gracelyn's eyes widened. She reached across the table, her fingers hovering near my collarbone. "Adelaide... what is that?"

I froze, pulling the scarf back up, but it was too late. She had seen it. The dark, violet bruise Damien had left on my skin. A mark of possession. A brand.

"It's nothing," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I hit it on the nightstand."

"Don't lie to me." Gracelyn's voice dropped, losing its playful edge. She leaned in, her expression a mix of shock and dark curiosity. "That's a bite mark. A bruise left by a man who wanted the world to know you're taken."

Heat flooded my face. "Gracelyn, please."

"Who is he?" she demanded, a smirk tugging at her lips now. "He must be intense. Possessive."

*You have no idea.*

"It's... complicated," I whispered, looking down at my latte. "He's... an older man."

Gracelyn raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Older? Like, silver fox older? Is he rich?"

"Very," I breathed, the lie tasting like bile.

Before she could interrogate me further, her phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a single word: *Father*.

The playful atmosphere evaporated instantly. Gracelyn's posture straightened, her face losing all traces of amusement. She answered on the first ring.

"Father," she said, her tone respectful, bordering on submissive.

I couldn't hear Damien's voice, but I felt it. The air around us seemed to drop a few degrees. Gracelyn listened, her eyes flicking to me, then away.

"But we have a lecture in an hour," she tried, though her protest was weak. A pause. She swallowed hard. "Understood. We're leaving now."

She hung up and looked at me, a grimace marring her features. "Change of plans. We're skipping class. He wants us at the flagship store downtown. Now."

"Why?"

"He didn't say. And with the Don, you don't ask 'why'. You just ask 'how fast'."

*

Twenty minutes later, I was behind the wheel of the silver Aston Martin. The car was a beast, the engine purring with a lethal power that terrified me. The interior smelled of new leather and money. It felt less like a vehicle and more like a gilded cage on wheels.

Gracelyn was in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio, when the central console screen lit up. My phone had automatically connected to the car's Bluetooth system.

A text message banner stretched across the high-definition display.

Sender: Andrew Hebert

*Stop playing games, Adelaide. Come home. You belong here.*

The words hung there, glowing in the dim cabin. My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white. He was still trying. He still thought he owned me.

Gracelyn read the message, her lip curling in disgust. "God, he is relentless. 'You belong here'? That sounds like something a serial killer would say."

She looked at me, her expression serious. "You know, it's a good thing you have that mystery man of yours. Whoever he is, if he left a mark like that on you, he won't let a creep like Andrew Hebert anywhere near you."

I stared at the road ahead, the irony twisting in my gut like a knife. She thought my "mystery man" was my savior. She didn't realize he was the predator who had just handed me the keys to my own prison.

"Yeah," I whispered, merging onto the highway that led straight to Damien. "A good thing."