The light was too bright.
It sliced through the velvet curtains like a blade, landing on my bare shoulder, making me flinch.
My eyes opened slowly.
The hotel room looked different in daylightless mysterious, more real. My wedding dress lay crumpled on the floor like a dead thing. My bra dangled from the lamp. The bouquet was a wilted mess near the nightstand.
And the man in bed beside me?
He was still asleep — one arm over his head, hair messy, lips slightly parted. His body was turned toward me, the blanket riding low on his hips, exposing tattoos and smooth skin that made my stomach twist.
What have I done?
I slipped out from under the covers as quietly as I could. My legs ached. My body still throbbed in places I didn't want to think about.
I needed to leave.
I needed to forget.
But then—
"Leaving already?"
His voice was husky, low… dangerous.
I froze.
He sat up slowly, eyes half-lidded and smirking. Green eyes like poison, watching me like a predator who wasn't done yet.
I grabbed my dress, holding it to my chest. "Last night was a mistake."
"Was it?"
He stood, fully naked, no shame. Just lean muscle and raw confidence.
My heart stuttered.
He walked over to me slowly, like he knew I wouldn't run.
"You walked in wearing white and begged me to ruin you," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Don't pretend you didn't want it."
My throat went dry. "I… I didn't even ask your name."
He smiled. "You didn't need to."
I stepped back. "I need to go."
He didn't stop me.
He just watched.
"Fine. But when you come back, wear black."
I paused at the door. "I'm not coming back."
"You will."
He said it like a fact — not a threat, not a question. Just truth.
And I hated how part of me believed him.
--
Outside
The city was loud again. Cars honking. People rushing. Life moving on… without me.
My phone buzzed.
10 missed calls. 4 voicemails.
All from my mother.
I ignored them.
I walked down the street in borrowed heels and shame. My makeup was smeared. My dress wrinkled. My life? Ruined.
But for some reason…
I didn't feel broken.
I felt empty.
The phone rang again.
I hesitated before answering. My hands were still shaking from everything that had happened. But when I heard my mother's voice on the other end, sharp and tense, I knew something was wrong.
"Your father wants to see you," she said.
Ten minutes later, I was at the hospital.
The sterile white halls were cold, but not colder than the shame crawling under my skin. Shame I couldn't wash off. I kept my head down as I walked, avoiding the pitying glances from the nurses who had probably seen the wedding photos online. The headlines. The gossip.
"Runaway groom leaves heiress at altar"
"From princess to pariah"
They didn't say my name, but they didn't need to.
When I reached the door to my father's room, I froze.
The last time I saw him was at the church. Right before he collapsed in front of everyone. My father—the same man whose name made people sit straighter at boardroom tables, whose wealth funded half the hospitals in the city—had gone down like a felled tree in a tailored tux.
Because of me.
Because I trusted someone I shouldn't have.
I pressed myself against the wall and watched through the small glass panel. He was coughing, hard. Blood stained the tissues in his hand. Machines beeped steadily beside him.
I should have left.
But then he turned, his eyes catching mine.
He lifted his hand and beckoned.
"Come here, Princess," he said, voice hoarse.
I stepped in slowly, my legs numb.
He patted the side of his bed. "Sit."
i did.
His hand reached for mine, weak but warm. I couldn't help it—I broke. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
"This isn't your fault," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Fate is cruel sometimes. But you... you're still my daughter. And you're going to be okay."
"Dad..." I choked. "I ruined everything. You almost died. The company's tanking. The press is all over us. I should've seen through him."
He squeezed my hand. "Then fix it. Rebuild what was broken. Take back what's ours. You're stronger than this, Calliah."
Calliah. He hadn't called me that in years. Only ever when he was proud.
I wiped my tears, nodding. "I will. I'll bring the company back."
He smiled faintly. Then coughed again, deeper this time. My mother stepped in, looking pale and hollowed out.
I stood, kissed his forehead, and left.
---
At home, I didn't even know why I chose black.
Maybe it was mourning. Maybe it was rage. Or maybe, deep down, I was already burying who I used to be or was it because the stranger asked me to.
The spoiled daughter of a billionaire. The naive girl in a white dress. The fool who thought love was enough.
I showered, scrubbed until my skin turned red. Then dressed. A black satin top, black jeans, boots. No makeup. Just dark eyes and vengeance in my chest.
I drove.
The gates to his house were still open, like nothing happened. Like the world didn't shift under my feet less than twenty-four hours ago.
I stepped inside.
And froze.
There he was.
My ex-fiancé.
Reclined on the patio couch like royalty. Shirt half-buttoned. Cigarette between his lips. And beside him...
The man I slept with last night.
The stranger. The green-eyed devil who made me forget.
They were laughing.
Smoking.
Drinking whiskey like it was just another summer evening.
I felt sick.
My feet moved before my brain caught up.
He looked up and smirked. "Look who decided to show up."
The stranger turned.
Our eyes met.
His face didn't change.
Blank!!.
Like he didn't know me.
"Do you know her?" my ex asked, chuckling.
The stranger took a drag from his cigarette and shook his head. "Never seen her before."
I almost fell.
Betrayal burned through me so violently I thought I'd combust. My ears rang. My vision blurred.
The man who held me all night. The one who told me I was beautiful. Who kissed my scars and called me soft. Who promised to stop if I wanted.
And now he denied me. In front of him.
i staggered back.
My ex stood, hands in pockets. "You thought what? That he was your rebound hero? Sweetheart, you were just a story. Something to laugh about."
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To rip his smirking face off and feed it to dogs.
But I couldn't move.
I wasn't me anymore.
Not the daughter of a rich man.
Not the bride.
Not even the woman in the white dress.
Just... Calliah. A broken girl in black, watching her world collapse.
I ran.
Down the steps.
Out the gates.
Through the street.
My tears blinded me, but I didn't care. I needed to get out. Away. Somewhere that didn't smell like smoke and betrayal.
I ran all the way back to my father's mansion. Slamming the front door behind me.
Then I screamed.
I screamed until my throat went raw. Until the maids peeked from corners. Until my mother shouted my name.
I collapsed in the hallway, fists slamming the marble floor.
And then I vowed.
Not to cry again.
Not to love again.
Not until I make them all pay.
--
In the days that followed, whispers circled everywhere. The media. The staff. Even my so-called friends.
"She walked out in the rain like a crazy person."
"She begged a stranger to sleep with her."
"The wedding dress cost over fifty grand. What a waste."
"Her dad's company is sinking. Serves them right."
"I always knew he was too smooth."
They all had something to say.
Even the ones who used to beg for invitations to our parties. Even the girls who swore they envied me.
Now, I was the punchline. The scandal.
The girl who got dumped.
The heiress humiliated.
But they forgot something.
You can't kill a girl who's already dead inside.
And from ashes?
I would rise.
With blood on my hands.
And a list of names to burn.