“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

The automatic doors of westbridge Memorial hissed open with a sterile sigh, swallowing Selene Blackwell into its pale, humming belly.

She stepped into the fluorescent chill of the hospital lobby, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers so tightly the stems bit into her palm. Lila's favorite—bright, stubborn, sun-drenched things that bloomed like hope even in the darkest corners.

They didn't suit this place.

Neither did she.

The scent of antiseptic mingled with something sour and metallic beneath it. Death, maybe. Or grief. Or secrets sealed in the walls like old paint.

Selene adjusted the neckline of her cashmere coat. Beneath it, her silk blouse clung to her back with nervous sweat. She glanced down. The wedding ring on her finger glittered under the overhead lights—massive, ostentatious, far too tight.

It felt like a shackle masquerading as love.

A nurse at the front desk looked up, nudged her colleague, and whispered behind a hand.

"That's her. Dante Blackwell's wife."

The words sliced through Selene like a scalpel.

Not Selene Hart. Not a sister. Not a woman.

Just his.

Still, she smiled—tight, rehearsed. She kept walking, heels tapping a measured rhythm down the sterile corridor like a woman entirely in control.

This wasn't about her.

Not today.

---

Lila's room was the softest place in the entire hospital.

Sunlight spilled through half-drawn curtains in golden slants. A vase of fresh lilies sat by the window, already wilting. Machines beeped in slow intervals, steady but fragile, and the soft whoosh of oxygen filled the air like a whispered prayer.

Lila sat propped up against a mountain of pillows, her skin pale against the hospital sheets. But her eyes—God, those eyes—lit up the moment she saw Selene.

"You're glowing," she whispered, voice hoarse but teasing. "Married life looks so good on you."

Selene laughed, the sound brittle around the edges. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm serious," Lila said, grinning weakly. "You look like a woman in love."

Selene's hands froze. The bouquet rustled as she set it down too fast on the bedside table. She turned her face away, using the flowers as an excuse to busy herself. "I brought your favorites."

Lila's eyes widened when she saw the orchids already in the room—snow-white, pristine, elegant. The card tucked between them read in Dante's neat, commanding script:

For my sister-in-law, with care — Dante.

Selene nodded toward them, lying with practiced ease. "He sent those. Wanted to impress you."

Lila clutched her heart. "He's already perfect and I haven't even met him."

"Don't let the orchids fool you. He's just a man."

A dangerous man, Selene wanted to say. But she didn't.

Instead, she reached for the chair beside the bed and forced her body into stillness. "Tell me how you've been."

Lila, always eager to pretend she wasn't tired, launched into stories. Her voice danced through stories about bad hospital food, grumpy nurses, and the novel she was halfway through. But eventually, like gravity pulling her in, she circled back.

"Okay, but enough about me. Tell me everything. How was the wedding? The honeymoon? Did he cry when he saw you?"

Selene's breath caught in her chest.

She'd cried. But not from happiness.

She smiled anyway. "It was… magical."

Lila reached for her hand. "You deserve magic. After everything. You really do, Sel."

The truth festered behind her ribs like rot.

---

They talked for over an hour.

Lila made her laugh, teasing her about how she used to write letters to a "mystery prince" when they were little girls—nonsense poetry and swoony fairytales about a boy who'd love her enough to burn the world.

"You always wanted something epic," Lila said, voice airy with nostalgia. "Me? I just wanted someone who'd make me tea without asking."

Selene looked away, blinking back something hot. "You still will."

Lila coughed, her frame trembling under the sheets. "Don't lie to me, Sel. Not today."

The silence stretched too long.

"I always knew you'd get your fairytale ending," Lila said softly. "You were always meant for more."

"No," Selene said, her voice suddenly sharp. "You were."

The machines beeped on. Steady. Cold. Unbothered.

---

By afternoon, Dante's presence crept into the room without ever stepping foot inside it.

The food tray that arrived was from Verona, a private Italian chef service that catered exclusively to high-profile clients. Nurse Halley confided it had been arranged by Mr. Blackwell directly—his assistant had called twice to confirm her sister's dietary restrictions.

Then came the luxury basket: silk scarves in blush tones, perfumes from a Parisian line Selene couldn't even pronounce. The card was gold-embossed.

"For Lila — With love, from your brother-in-law."

It all felt like a performance. A well-rehearsed lie dressed in designer packaging.

Selene sat at Lila's side while her sister marveled at every gift.

"When do I get to meet him?" Lila asked, eyes hopeful.

"Soon," Selene said. The lie tasted like ash. "He's away on business."

"Still sounds like a dream, Sel."

Selene forced a nod, even as her vision blurred. "He's something."

Later, she excused herself to the private bathroom inside the suite.

She locked the door and collapsed against it, one hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that tore free.

I can't do this.

She slid down to the tiled floor, shoulders trembling. Her wedding ring glinted under the bathroom light, as if mocking her. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like she belonged to herself.

She had no photos from the wedding because none were meant for her.

Only the headlines. Only the illusions.

And she was tired—so damn tired—of being a prop in Dante's world.

---

Night bled into the corners of the hospital as Lila drifted to sleep.

Selene pulled the blanket up to her sister's chest and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. "Next time, I'll bring wedding photos," she promised softly.

She slipped out of the room and into the quiet of the hallway, letting the door click shut behind her.

Her phone buzzed.

1 New Message — Jocelyn Park

Selene's stomach twisted the moment she saw her old college roommate's name. She opened it with cautious fingers.

> Jocelyn:

"Are you okay?"

[image attached]

A tabloid screenshot loaded slowly, the headline bold and merciless:

STILL HIS FAVORITE?

Claudia Devereaux and the Billionaire Groom Reignite Old Flames at His Wedding

Selene's pulse stuttered.

The photo beneath the headline was vivid—too vivid.

Claudia Devereaux stood in radiant white beside Dante, her manicured hand curled possessively around his bicep. Her face leaned intimately toward his, lips grazing the shell of his ear. Dante's expression was unreadable—stone, but attentive.

And in the background, blurred and near the edge of the frame, stood Selene.

Turned away.

Alone.

Forgotten.

Her throat tightened. Every breath scraped against the hollow in her chest like glass.

He promised…

But Claudia was always there, wasn't she? Polished, poised, the woman the world expected at Dante Blackwell's side.

And Selene?

She was the mistake he married out of vengeance. Out of guilt.

A possession he could parade in private.

Not a bride.

A symbol.

Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Not yet.

Behind her, a nurse stepped out of the station. "Mrs. Blackwell? Is everything alright?"

Selene didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Her phone dimmed in her hand, but the image burned behind her eyes.

She smiled faintly. Not the sweet, sunlit kind she gave Lila.

No.

This one was sharp. Cold. Dangerous.

So this is how you want to play it, Dante.

Let the world think she was forgotten. Let Claudia smile in the spotlight.

But Selene had learned something else today—something more dangerous than heartbreak.

Power was perception.

And Dante Blackwell was about to remember exactly who he married.

Behind her, the nurse repeated, "Mrs. Blackwell?"

Selene turned slowly, a mask of icy elegance settling over her features.

"Yes," she said, slipping her phone back into her purse.

"Everything is absolutely perfect."

But in her eyes, a storm had begun to gather.

And this time, she wasn't just going to survive the world Dante built—

She was going to burn it down.

---