I Married His Uncle for Revenge

Chapter 2

Beneath the glittering chandeliers of the banquet hall, two figures strolled in, tangled together like they were made of the same breath.

Stella's lips were painted an unnaturally vivid red, and Ethan Sterling's shirt collar hung open just enough to reveal a fresh love bite on his collarbone.

The guests' eyes flickered between them and me, the air electric, thick with the promise of a spectacle.

Ethan's arm stayed locked tight around Stella's waist—but his gaze never left mine.

He was waiting.

Waiting for me to break. To lose it like I used to.

Waiting to feed off the familiar thrill of me clawing for his attention.

I took a slow sip of champagne, not so much as a blink betraying me.

"Looks like you finally learned some manners," Ethan said, disappointment bleeding into his voice as his fingers dug deeper into Stella's waist.

"No more embarrassing tantrums."

Later that night, just as I was about to leave, Ethan caught my wrist.

"I'll drive you," he said.

Under the pale glow of the moon, he pulled open the passenger door.

Stella fluttered into the seat like a butterfly, tossing me a sweet, mocking wink.

"Don't mind me, sis. Ethan's just worried I'll get carsick," she chirped.

In the rearview mirror, their bodies blurred together in a tangle of limbs and whispered laughter.

At a red light, Stella pulled out a lip balm. Ethan seized it from her, tugging her in by the back of the neck, their breaths tangling in the small, heated space—

until his eyes suddenly snapped up to the mirror, to me.

I was gazing out the window, lost in the neon blur of the city racing by.

At my doorstep, Ethan thrust a small velvet box into my hands.

"Enough with the games," he said sharply.

Inside was a silver bracelet, its cheap, brassy gleam almost offensive under the streetlight.

"The wedding's happening. As planned," he said, towering over me.

"In Northcrest, you'll always be Mrs. Sterling."

I traced the rough clasp of the bracelet with my fingertip.

"And whose name will be on the marriage license?" I asked lightly.

"Stella's?"

Something dark flickered across Ethan's face before he barked out a low laugh.

"You breathe a word of this to the elders, and you'll regret it," he snapped.

"Stella's not like you—she wouldn't even hurt an ant. If I find out you—"

The sharp clink of the bracelet hitting the trash can cut him off.

I turned away without a word.

My phone buzzed in the darkness.

A video popped up—Ethan fastening a diamond necklace around Stella's throat, the two of them tangled in messy, desperate kisses.

A new message followed:

Did you know, sis?

That necklace cost seven figures.

Yours? Just a freebie from the counter.

After your wedding, Ethan and I are getting our real marriage license.

After all, the law only protects real wives.

Don't you agree?