The Pauper's Prize Chapter 1

After marrying my nemesis, I fell ridiculously in love.

My days became a blur of sweet nothings and blistering fucking.

Six months into this intoxicating routine, I decided to surprise him for a lunch date.

Instead, I walked into a brawl between him and my childhood best friend.

My friend landed a solid punch. “You son of a bitch. You dared to force her into this marriage? Do you have any idea how much she despises you?”

Griffin slowly wiped a smear of blood from his lip. The words hit their mark, and his eyes turned venomous.

“Of course I know,” he hissed. “So what? You really think I’d ever let her go?”

A wave of sympathetic glances washed over me from the onlookers, as if I were the tragic heroine in a dark romance, stolen and caged.

I looked down at myself, dripping in jewels and designer clothes.

My world shattered.

Weren’t we… weren’t we a love story? The kind where you marry first, and fall in love later?

* * *

Deep in the night, I was waging war from behind my laptop screen.

“Let me spell it out for you,” I typed, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Your boyfriend is gaslighting you. Grand gestures and sweet talk are cheap. The only real metric is his wallet. Follow the money, honey. That’s where the love is.”

A user shot back instantly. “Who is this high-and-mighty bitch telling people how to live? They’re a happy couple, leave them alone.”

The replies piled on.

“Seriously. How much did your husband spend on you? Bet he bought you a tacky gold bracelet and now you think you’re a relationship guru.”

A few seconds later, I uploaded a photo of the diamond on my finger. A rock the size of a quail’s egg.

“Auction price was five million. A little gift from my husband.”

The replies trickled to a halt, then started again.

User 1: “…Why do you guys always have to poke the bear?”

User 2: “Ugh, rich people. Get out of our comment section.”

I rolled my eyes, tapping out one last defiant message. “I told you my husband genuinely loves me… you just didn’t want to believe it.”

I snapped the laptop shut. Griffin was still in the shower.

I kissed the massive diamond, then slipped into a red lace nightgown, all strategic cutouts and delicate straps, and draped myself across the bed to wait for him.

Six months into my marriage with Griffin, and our relationship was blossoming.

The evidence was clear:

One, my family may have gone bankrupt, but Griffin’s vast fortune was more than enough to sustain my lavish lifestyle.

Two, Griffin may have been a scholarship kid I used to torment for years, but he held no grudges. After the wedding, he became my loyal servant. Whatever I wanted, he provided.

Click.

The bathroom door opened.

The man I’d been waiting for emerged, a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, catching the lamplight like tiny pearls.

I drew out his name, my voice thick and syrupy. “Griffin. Come serve your queen.”

His dark gaze raked over my body as he silently crossed the room.

I decided to praise him generously. “I’m very satisfied with this gift. Next time, I want something bigger. An emerald, I think—”

He silenced me, his mouth crashing down on mine.

The sound of tearing silk filled the air, and my expensive nightgown was reduced to ribbons.

Outside, a gentle rain began to fall.

Inside, my muffled protests turned into whimpers.

“Griffin, you dog, I didn’t say you could start—”

“Hush, Sloane. If you want the emerald, you’ll be quiet.”