After My Fiancé Cheated, I Married His Greatest Rival

"Adrian, look over here!"

"Vivian, is the on-screen romance real?"

Camera flashes turned the hotel ballroom into a blinding, strobe-lit frenzy. I stood near the ice sculpture, safely outside the media circus. My thumb rubbed the velvet edge of the small box in my pocket. Eight years. I had spent eight years building Adrian Thorne from a struggling indie actor into a global superstar. Tonight, after he won Best Actor, I was going to ask him to be my husband.

"Adrian, rumors say you two became inseparable on set," a reporter shouted over the chaos. "Is it true?"

Adrian didn't step back. Instead, he reached out. He grabbed Vivian Moore’s hand and held it up for the cameras.

The rising starlet blushed, ducking her head against his shoulder.

"We have a very special connection," Adrian announced into the cluster of microphones.

"Are you confirming a relationship?" another journalist pressed, shoving a recorder forward. "What about Scarlett Hayes?"

Adrian’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he flashed his signature charming smile. "Vivian is the only one who truly understands me."

A collective gasp rippled through the press corps.

My fingers crushed the velvet box. I didn't cry. Instead, a short, hollow laugh scraped its way up my throat. He didn't even look my way. The entire room knew I was here, standing just outside the spotlight, publicly discarded.

"Scarlett?" my assistant, Jenna, whispered, appearing beside me. "Did he just say that?"

"He did," I replied, my voice perfectly flat.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going home."

I walked out of the hotel, leaving the flashing lights and the whispers behind.

Two hours later, the front door of our shared penthouse clicked shut. Adrian tossed his keys onto the marble console. He didn't flinch when he saw me sitting on the sofa in the dark.

"You left the banquet early," he noted, loosening his tie.

"You held her hand in front of fifty cameras," I said.

He walked to the barcart and poured a glass of scotch. "I didn't plan for the press to corner us like that."

"But they did. And you told the world she understands you." I stood up, closing the distance between us. "What am I, Adrian? Just your manager?"

"Scarlett, things aren't like they used to be between us," he said, taking a sip. His eyes were cold, completely empty of the warmth I had known for nearly a decade.

"We bought this apartment together. We built a production company together."

"You managed the logistics," he corrected, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. "We're just used to each other now. It’s a habit. Vivian brings me new feelings. She makes me feel alive."

I stared at the stranger wearing my boyfriend's face. My phone buzzed on the coffee table. An alert from my industry contact. I swiped the screen, opening a leaked PR memo from Adrian's new management team.

I held the glowing screen up to his face. "Phase one: separate Adrian Thorne from Scarlett Hayes. Frame her as a controlling former manager. Erase her from his success narrative."

Adrian glanced at the tablet, completely unfazed. "My publicist thinks a clean break is best for my image. You'll get a generous severance."

"A severance?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the velvet box. I tossed it onto the glass coffee table. It bounced once and popped open. The custom diamond ring caught the dim light.

"I was going to propose tonight," I said.

He stared at the ring. No guilt crossed his features. Just sheer annoyance.

"Pack your things, Scarlett," he ordered, turning his back to me. "I want you out by tomorrow morning."

He walked down the hall, shutting the master bedroom door behind him.

I didn't scream. I didn't throw the scotch glass at the wall. I walked into the guest room, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and unzipped it. I threw in my clothes, my files, my laptop. Every piece of my life that didn't belong to him anymore.

My phone rang.

The screen displayed an unknown number. At two in the morning, nobody called with good news.

"Hello?" I answered, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder as I shoved a pair of jeans into the bag.

"Scarlett Hayes."

The voice was deep, resonant, and entirely unfamiliar.

"Who is this?" I asked, pausing my packing.

"Someone who watched Adrian Thorne dig his own grave on live television tonight."

I grabbed the phone with my hand. "If you're a reporter, you can direct your questions to Adrian's new publicist."

"I don't care about Adrian Thorne," the man replied. "I care about the woman who built his empire from dirt."

"Who are you?"

"Damian Blackwell."

My grip on the phone tightened. Damian Blackwell. The CEO of Vanguard Entertainment. He was the most ruthless man in Hollywood, and Adrian's biggest commercial rival.

"Why is the CEO of Vanguard calling me at two in the morning?" I asked.

"Because you have a problem, and I have a solution," Damian said. His tone was smooth, cutting through the silence of the room. "Adrian thinks he can erase you. He thinks he can take the credit for eight years of your genius."

"He has a top-tier PR team now. They will spin the narrative by sunrise."

"Let them try," Damian challenged. "Scarlett Hayes, I can let everyone know who really gave Adrian everything he has today. I can dismantle his career piece by piece."

"Why would you do that for me?"

"Because he crossed me on the Zenith distribution deal last month," Damian stated. "I intend to ruin him. You are the only person who knows where all his bodies are buried."

"I don't work for Vanguard, Mr. Blackwell."

"Not yet."

"I'm not looking for a job," I told him, zipping the suitcase shut. "I'm leaving town."

"Running away makes him the winner," Damian pointed out. "Stay. Fight back. Destroy the empire you built and build a new one with me."

"What exactly are you offering?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Power. Resources. Total control over Vanguard's new talent division."

"And your condition?"

The line went quiet for a brief second. When Damian spoke again, his voice dropped an octave, carrying a weight that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Marry me."