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.