Part 2Stolen Vows

Scarlett snapped.

She grabbed a half-empty tequila bottle, smashed it against the edge of the table, and lunged at me with the jagged neck.

"I'll kill you, you psycho!"

Scott and his friends scrambled to intercept her.

I was faster.

Before the broken glass could swing downward, the tip of my paring knife was already pressed firmly against her abdomen.

Beneath the thin knit of her dress, I could feel the faint, warm curve of her belly.

Scarlett froze.

Cold sweat beaded along her temple. Her hand began to tremble.

I studied her expression, feeling a sudden urge to laugh.

An unhinged beauty?

Yes, Scarlett Hayes looked and acted remarkably like the woman I used to be.

A replica is still just a cheap knockoff.

Over the past five years beside Scott, I had kept my claws retracted so thoroughly that he had forgotten what kind of monster I truly was.

"Summer!"

Scott violently yanked Scarlett behind his back.

His palm hovered over her stomach in an instinctive, protective posture.

"Stop this."

I arched a brow. "Stop what?"

"Didn't you bring her here to flaunt her in my face?"

"If she has the nerve to challenge me, she pays the toll. Am I wrong?"

A long, suffocating pause stretched between us.

Scott let out a quiet sigh, his tone softening as if he were simply dealing with an unruly, spoiled child.

"I'll pay it for her."

Without another word, he took a step toward me.

The paring knife sank smoothly into his flank.

White linen shirt. Crimson blood.

I stared at the dark stain blooming across his side, the vivid red stinging my eyes.

He didn't flinch.

Instead, he looked at me with tender devotion, raising a hand to gently caress my cheek.

"There. Are you happy now?"

"Scott, are you crazy?!" Scarlett screamed, trying to claw her way past him.

Scott ignored her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her toward the exit with long, hurried strides.

Her voice drifted back up the stairwell—a chaotic mix of profanities and tearful concern as she checked his wound while swearing to tear my throat out.

Through it all, Scott’s arms remained tightly wrapped around her stomach, shielding it from every jolt.

I stood on the balcony, watching their silhouettes vanish into the night.

A cold smirk touched the corners of my mouth.

Human nature truly is a pathetic joke.

Years ago, Scott and I were mortal enemies. If he poached my corporate contracts on Monday, I would sabotage his supply chain on Tuesday.

I spent years convinced he wanted nothing more than to see me dead.

How bizarre that he secretly loved me.

How disgusting that he still managed to betray me.

I pressed a hand against my chest, willing the dull ache beneath my ribs to quiet down.

What disgusted me most was that during these five stolen years... I had genuinely loved him too.

That afternoon, I sat in the penthouse scrolling through my phone.

My real fiancé, Gabriel Cross, had spent the last five years scouring the globe for me.

Scott had laid down an elaborate web of false leads, sending Gabriel on wild goose chases across Europe and South America.

Using my "safety from business rivals" as an excuse, Scott kept me under round-the-clock surveillance.

A tracker in my phone. Monitored calls. Every social media post pre-screened.

He had constructed a gilded cage, locking me inside and welding the bars shut with his own hands.

My screen suddenly flashed with a message request.

The profile picture was a sunset photo of Scott and Scarlett on a tropical beach, her head resting sweetly on his shoulder.

The moment I accepted, a barrage of photos flooded the chat.

Scott sitting beside her bed, gently massaging stretch mark cream onto her baby bump with eyes full of adoration.

Scott in the kitchen wearing an apron, plating an elaborate, organic meal tailored for prenatal nutrition.

Then came an audio message, Scarlett’s voice purring with triumphant venom:

"His friends told me you were his untouchable muse. His sacred white rose."

"So what? He still got bored."

"I don't give a damn about titles or marriage licenses. The woman who holds his heart is the only one who wins."

"I sent you a little gift. Make sure you sign for it."

Right on cue, the front doorbell chimed.

A courier handed me a thick envelope containing divorce papers.

On the signature line for the husband, Scott Sterling’s name was already penned in black ink.

Sharp, aggressive, unmistakable. His genuine handwriting.

I stared at his name for a long time.

Then, for the first time in days, I laughed aloud.

Did Scarlett truly believe I would claw and beg to keep him?

I couldn't wait to be rid of him.

I signed my name cleanly across the paper.

I snapped a picture and sent it straight to Scott’s private number.

Congratulations on the wedding.

Within three seconds, my phone began ringing frantically.