The wedding gown didn't fit.
Naturally, it didn't. It had been designed for the stunning and flawless Vivian, who had a presence that silenced the room when she walked in, along with her self-assurance and curves.
Monroe Island wasn't any of those things.
The seamstress made frantic, last-minute tucks at the waist of the ivory silk, where it hung loosely. The collarbones were too prominent and too pointed, as seen by the slight gap in the bodice. The train followed her like an accusation.
This dress was intended for someone else.
The intended recipient of this wedding was someone else.
This existence was intended for another person.
However, Vivian had fled, and Isla was all that was left.
Is this the guy you lawfully married, Isla Monroe?
The church was almost empty when the minister spoke. Empty because there was no opportunity to send out another invitation. Empty because the controversy of Vivian's betrayal had already swept through high society like wildfire. Since this was not a genuine wedding, the room was empty.
It was a commercial transaction.
A sacrifice.
A punishment.
Isla's throat was blocked. She was speechless. Unable to breathe. With murder in his dark eyes, the only thing she could do was gaze at the man who was standing in front of her.
Blackwood, Damian.
A specially made Tom Ford tuxedo covered six feet of barely restrained fury. Thirty years of age. A billionaire by his own efforts. The tech and fashion empire that had elevated him from obscurity to fortune in under ten years was owned by Blackwood Enterprises, of which he was the CEO.
And the most publicly humiliated guy in town as of yesterday.
Because Vivian Monroe—his fiancée, his stunning golden girl, the woman he had selected—had abandoned him at the altar. Truthfully. The church had undergone some renovation. The visitors were seated. The minister had been waiting.
With a marriage license already signed and twenty million dollars worth of stolen Blackwood designs in her luggage, Vivian had been traveling in a car with Adrian Vaughn, Damian's main commercial competitor, on her way to the airport.
Last night, the news broke about the scandal. It could be found in every business journal, news outlet, and social media platform by this morning. Vivian Monroe elopes with a rival CEO, leaving a tech mogul at the altar, and the Blackwood Empire is in turmoil.
In a matter of hours, Damian's reputation, which he had meticulously cultivated for years, was destroyed.
The Blackwood board of directors was requesting answers.
The investors grew anxious.
The price of stocks was falling.
And Isla's father, Richard Monroe, had seen an opportunity.
YESTERDAY AT 6:47 PM.
In place of that, you'll wed him.
Isla was sure she had misunderstood her father and gazed at him. What?
Richard Monroe, a compulsive gambler and horrible father, was the CEO of Monroe Industries. He paced his office like a caged animal. A call came from Damian Blackwood. Before fleeing, Vivian emptied our accounts, he is aware of this. He is aware of our financial situation. Additionally, he's extending an offer.
Elena, the mistress and shameful secret, wept softly in the corner, Isla's mother. She usually wept softly. Her 26 years as the other woman had taught her to keep a low profile.
What kind of agreement? Isla was successful.
He rescues Monroe Industries. pays off our debt. makes an investment in the business. As if he were thinking about selling her, Richard paused his pacing and gave Isla a stare. In return, he receives a Monroe bride. As pledged.
However, Vivian—
Vivian is no more! Richard slammed his fist on the table. She devastated us. stole everything. I ran away with Vaughn, that jerk. But the contract is still in effect. Blackwood was assured a fusion through marriage.
The truth came to light in all its horrific and chilling splendor.
Isla responded, "No. " No, you are unable to—
Richard interrupted her, saying, "You owe this family. " Do you know how much it cost to feed you? Dressed? Have you received an education? You're a mistress's illegitimate child. You don't have any justifiable claim to anything. However, Vivian— His voice broke. Our future was supposed to be in Vivian's hands. You'll fix it because she wrecked it.
I won't —
You certainly will. Richard's tone changed. Or I toss your mother out onto the street this evening. Terminate her health coverage. Cut off all financial assistance. Isla, she has nothing. You are my only family member, and I have no money or employment. What do you think will happen to her?
Elena started to weep harder.
The trap was closing in around Isla. It's crazy. Damian will disagree. He doesn't even recognize me—
Regardless of who you are, he is indifferent. To preserve his reputation, he desires a Monroe bride. You are a Monroe. Richard slammed a contract on the table after pulling it out. One year. Marriage in public. Finally, divorce. He regains his reputation. We were able to rescue our business. Everyone emerges victorious.
Only I am excluded.
You? Richard chuckled cruelly and bitterly. You should be appreciative. For a year, you may be Mrs. Damian Blackwood. Live luxuriously. Dress in upscale designer attire. Act as if you matter. That chance would be worth killing for for most women.
Most women aren't being marketed like property.
The majority of women are not illegitimate disappointments who rely on charity. Richard gave her the agreement. Sign. Or your mother is in pain. Your choice.
There was no option.
It was never an option.
With trembling hands, Isla had picked up the pen and written her name.
She would be Mrs. Blackwood the next day.
She would weep herself to sleep tonight.
NOW. THE ALTAR.
Ms. Monroe? The minister gave a mild prod. Do you accept this guy?
From the floor, Isla looked up at Damian's face.
He was gorgeous. She had always felt that way, even when it felt like a betrayal. Features that belonged on magazine covers and were sharp. Well-kept, dark hair. Although it was a stormy midnight right now, the eyes resembled midnight.
For two years, she had a covert, embarrassing crush on him. From the first time Isla served them wine with shaking hands at a family dinner that Vivian had brought him to. Of course, he'd completely ignored her. She provided assistance. Richard refused to pay for anyone who may have been qualified, so his illegitimate daughter worked as his secretary.
He had never met her. Not exactly. She had been completely invisible, even at the parties, events, and subsequent meals. The youngster in the corner. The person who didn't count.
And regardless, she had loved him. unrequited love that was so pathetic and hopeless that she despised herself.
He was now staring at her. At last, looking at her.
And she wished he weren't.
Because those gloomy eyes were filled with nothing but hatred. Anger. Blame.
He believed she was a member of this. Vivian's plan included this. complicit in the betrayal.
He had no idea that Isla had been tortured by Vivian throughout their lives. It was six months ago at supper that he had complimented Isla's design portfolio, which had been taken and given out as Vivian's. I didn't realize that Isla cried when Vivian revealed their engagement—not out of joy, but out of sorrow.
He was completely unfamiliar with her.
And he despised her regardless.
Isla said, "I do," since she had no other option.
The priest addressed Damian. And Damian Blackwood, do you consider this woman to be your legally married wife?
Damian's teeth were clenched. One of the muscles in his cheek ticked.
Isla considered saying no for a protracted, horrible second. Could just leave her standing here in this borrowed dress, twice left in the lurch in as many days.
Then he spoke, his voice as cold as steel: Yes, I do.
A lie, a promise, and a threat are all included in two words.
I then declare you husband and wife by the authority that has been given to me. The minister smiled, unconcerned by the tension. The bride is available for a kiss.
Isla's heartbeat came to a halt.
This aspect hadn't crossed her mind. Not prepared for—
Before she had time to freak out, Damian made a move. He pulled her ahead while holding the back of her neck with his hand, which was hard, possessive, and not kind.
His lips slammed into hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A sentence. Hard and succinct, with no hint of love.
He barely touched her ear with his lips as he drew back. He only spoke to her in a whisper:
Mrs. Blackwood, please grin for the cameras. This is the best day of your life.
His tone said, "And I'm going to make sure you regret every second of it. "
There was no reception, no guests, and no cameras.
Richard had only recruited a photographer to record evidence of marriage for the business agreement.
The photographer took shots while Isla stood next to Damian in the church entrance. To anyone else, Damian's arm around her waist would seem to be a sign of love. The strain in his grasp, the almost controlled violence, was palpable to Isla.
"Smile wider, Mrs. Blackwood," Damian said softly. You just wed a millionaire. Be a little more upbeat.
Through clenched teeth, Isla said, "I'm trying. "
Put in more effort. Unless, of course, you want your father's business to fail after all.
Isla grinned. Plastic, flawless, and fake.
Click. Click. Click.
The photographer declared, "Beautiful. " With the kiss now—
"No," Damien responded simply. We're finished.
Isla was let go by him as if she had burned him, he took a step back, and then he took out his phone.
Marcus, he said over the phone without even looking at Isla. It's finished. Submit the marriage license to the county clerk. Send the money to Monroe Industries. Additionally, get the penthouse ready. My wife and I are moving in this evening.
My spouse.
The statement was like a curse.
In her oversized attire, Isla stood by herself, unnoticed as her new husband went about his work.
Richard walked up, appearing relieved. Isla. Thank you. You helped the family.
Isla, I rescued you. Fixed. There is a distinction.
Don't exaggerate. Everyone benefits from this. Richard glanced at Damian. He's a decent fellow. Strong. Things might be worse.
A guy who gives me the impression that he wants me dead is not the worst thing I could experience.
He will get through it. After the scandal subsides, after his reputation rebounds— Richard gave her a clumsy pat on the shoulder. It's just one year. Then you're set free.
Free.
Isla didn't feel at liberty. She had the impression that she had just signed her own prison term.
Richard urged, "Come on. " Let's help you change. You must be in the penthouse within the hour, according to Damian.
What did he do?
You are currently married. You are in his company. Richard stated it as if it were self-evident. Looks are important. You'll act the happy couple in public, go to events together, and live in the same house.
In private?
Between you and your spouse, that's a private matter.
AT 8:47 p. m. , DAMIAN'S PENTHOUSE.
Isla got exactly what she anticipated—and nothing else.
The city may be seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Contemporary furnishings in chrome and black. Art that might have cost more than the average person's home. Cold. Stunning. Not welcoming.
Similar to the previous owner.
During the journey, Damian hadn't said a word to her. Hadn't noticed her as the driver drove them to the structure. They hadn't said hello to her as they rode the exclusive elevator to the top floor.
With his tie loosened and a drink in his hand, he now stood at the windows, gazing at the cityscape as if he were preparing to obliterate it.
Uncertain of what to do or where to go, Isla stood by the door with her lone suitcase.
Without turning, Damian stated that there are two bedrooms. The second door on the left is yours. Unless I instruct otherwise, remain in it.
Alright.
Beginning next week, we will be making public appearances. A fundraiser for charity. Dinner meeting. Social gatherings. You'll be at all of them. You'll grin. You will portray the devoted wife. This marriage will be believable to everyone.
I get it.
Do you? The expression in his eyes caused Isla to move back as he turned. Since I must be quite explicit about what this is. You are not my spouse. You're a commercial agreement. A public relations plan. The wound your sister caused was treated with a band-aid.
I am aware.
My life is none of your business. You are not permitted to ask any questions. We are, at the end of the day, strangers connected by a contract, and you cannot feign that we are anything else.
No, I wouldn't.
And, most importantly, Damian moved across the room, pausing at a distance where Isla had to crane her neck to look at him. It's against the rules to say your sister's name. Not in this home. Not for me. Never. Vivian Monroe doesn't exist, in my opinion. And you don't either.
The brutality shocked Isla.
She discovered herself saying that she was enough to protect your name. I am sufficient to make promises at that altar. I have enough of an existence to portray your wife in public. Which is it, then? Am I real or not?
The expression in Damian's eyes became less intense. Watch out, Mrs. Blackwood. You may be replaced. Remember that.
How might I? You've made it quite plain. At last, a spark of defiance sparked as Isla raised her chin. However, for the sake of posterity? I'm not Vivian. I didn't sell you out. I didn't ask for this marriage. And I definitely didn't want to be here.
Then we have something in common.
Great. We may find common ground in our shared misery.
We won't be able to connect over anything. Damien looked away. Go to your room. Keep where you are. I don't want to see you this evening.
Isla picked up her suitcase and headed for the corridor.
And Isla?
She stopped and turned around.
Damian's grin was cruel, gorgeous, and utterly destructive. Welcome to your new life. For what your sister did to me, I'm going to make you suffer. Every. Single. Day. I swear.
Isla's heart broke. However, she didn't want him to see it.
She said calmly that fortunately I am used to going through hardship. I've practiced for twenty-five years.
She didn't cry until she got to her assigned room and shut the door.
AT MIDNIGHT.
Isla was unable to fall asleep.
She was staring at the ceiling in the guest room, which was larger than her full flat.
Her phone rang. A message from an unidentified phone number.
She unlocked it.
Congratulations on your marriage, sis. Live a happy life in my shadow. You've always been so skilled at being the second best. - V
Underneath the message is a picture. Champagne glasses in hand, wedding rings glittering, Vivian and Adrian are somewhere in the tropics.
Another picture shows Vivian smiling in a designer bikini.
Another text: Thank you for accepting my leftovers. In any case, Damian was becoming monotonous. But don't fret—I'm sure he'll be able to find you some kind of employment. Generally speaking, males do. - V
Isla's hands trembled.
This has been going on for 25 years. For twenty-five years, Vivian's cruelty, her taunts, and her casual destruction of everything Isla valued.
But this—taking Damian's heart, his trust, his commercial secrets, and then laughing about it from a beach while Isla picked up the pieces—this was too much.
Isla experienced a transformation within. Tough.
She had been the victim her entire life. The kid born out of wedlock. The one that isn't wanted. The girl who endured the torment and begged for more.
No longer.
Did Damian seek retaliation against the wrong woman? All right then.
Isla would assist him in retaliating against the RIGHT person.
And perhaps, just maybe, she would have some retaliation of her own.
She sent Damien a fresh text message. Waited. Afterwards, I typed:
I am aware that you despise me. I'm aware that you believe I was involved in Vivian's actions. However, I am not. And I can assist you if you wish to genuinely ruin her. I know all of her secrets. Every fault. Every fib. I have evidence of all that she has taken from us both. We have the option of burying her as a group. Isla – curious?
Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send.
Her bedroom door opened three minutes later.
With his phone in his hand, Damian stood at the entrance, his eyes burning with what could have been rage or curiosity. or perhaps it was a combination of the two.
He stated, "Talk. " In five minutes, you have to persuade me that you're not still playing games.
For the first time in her life, Isla stood up, faced him, and refused to give way.
I'm serious. I'm proposing a partnership to you. My sister has earned your ire. I want to be free of my family. We are already wed. For a year, we are already stuck together. We might as well spend that time exterminating the ones who annihilated us.
And what benefit do you get from this?
Justice. recognition for the labor she took from me. The opportunity to show that I am more than just the ignored illegitimate child. Isla's voice became louder. And perhaps—only perhaps—an opportunity to demonstrate to you that I am not her. Which I wasn't, ever.
For a long, intense moment, Damian examined her.
At last, he demanded that I provide him with the evidence. All that you say you own. We'll chat if you're telling the truth. If you're lying—
I'm not.
Then show me.
Isla took out her laptop and unlocked her secret files. Documenting over the course of many years. Create design portfolios that include timestamps to demonstrate that she was the first inventor. financial records of the money Vivian had taken. Pictures of harsh remarks. proof of infidelity, deceit, and theft.
Everything.
Damian sat next to her on the bed and went through it all. With each file, his face became more somber.
Did she swipe these designs? He held up a portfolio. For these—these are the ones for whom I commended her.
They are mine. Everything is mine. She claimed them as her own after stealing them from my computer.
The monetary fraud?
For the last two years, she's been stealing from my father's firm. For this reason, Monroe Industries is actually insolvent. Vivian's theft wasn't a bad business.
Damian's jaw tightened. How about this? He discovered the folder with the label Affairs.
The guys with whom she had affairs with you. This includes Adrian Vaughn. They have been dating for eight months. From before your engagement.
The laptop was shut gently by Damian. Too cautiously. The sort of caution that preceded violence.
Why did you keep it a secret? He spoke in a very low tone.
Who could have believed me? I am the illegitimate child. She's the favorite. A long time ago, I discovered that the truth is meaningless when no one wants to hear it.
I would have paid attention.
Do you want? When you didn't even realize my existence until yesterday?
A direct hit. Damian gave a start.
"You're right," he confessed. I didn't see you. Vivian saw to it. She would—every time you were in the space— He paused. She planned it out. It kept me occupied. I made sure I never glanced at you again.
Isla said softly, "Because she knew. " She could always tell when I was passionate about something. She constantly wrecked it.
Damien faced her completely. So, this is what it is? Revenge?
No. This is about survival. And if I can bring her down while protecting myself? Even better.
You wish to make use of me.
We would be using one another. You must get married in order to protect your name. I need resources to leave my family. You want retribution against Vivian. I want justice for years of mistreatment. We don't have to serve a jail term together. It might be a partnership.
As Damian stated again, a collaboration. Between a guy seeking vengeance and a lady who has lived her life in anonymity.
The most effective antagonists are those that are unexpected.
Damian's mouth moved. Nearly a smile. Not exactly.
"This is what's going to happen," he stated. You'll provide me copies of everything. Every proof, every dirty little secret, every file. We will utilize it to methodically eliminate Vivian and Adrian. In the open. Absolutely.
And what did they get in return?
I give you a job in return. The head of design for the Blackwood Fashion Division. On merit, not in my name, you will establish yourself. With your own skills, you will create a career. And when we divorce at the end of this year, you will leave with a portfolio, a reputation, and enough cash to support yourself for the rest of your life.
Isla's expectations were exceeded by this.
"Deal," she said.
An additional requirement. Damian fixed his gaze on her. Between us, there are no lies. Zero games. Even if we're using one another, we do it in a straightforward manner. In the event that you betray me as your sister did—
I won't.
I'll kill you if you do. Absolutely. Do you get it?
Understood.
Excellent. Damien got up. Mrs. Blackwood, get some rest. Tomorrow we will begin our preparations. What about Isla?
Is it?
Welcome to the team. Let's set them all on fire.
He shut the door as he departed.
Her thoughts were racing, and her heart was pounding as she sat in the dark.
She had only recently signed a contract with the devil.
However, perhaps it was precisely what she required in order to eventually become someone of significance.
Once more, her phone rang. Vivian sent me another message:
Are you still there, kid sister? Are you still making do with bits and pieces? pathetic. - V
Isla smiled in the darkness, her expression cold and resolute.
Not for long, Vivian. - I didn't think so.
She blocked the number and removed the thread.
She would begin to transform into a different person the next day.
She had buried the old Isla earlier that day—the victim, the invisible girl, the replacement.
Someone that Vivian Monroe would learn to fear would emerge from those ashes.
Mrs. Isla Blackwood.
She was only beginning to scratch the surface.
