Left at the Altar, Stolen by the Enemy

At the engagement party, Ethan discovered his first love was being forced into an arranged marriage with his blind rival. Without thinking twice, he rushed to the courthouse and married her on the spot.

By that afternoon, the newlyweds were already on a plane to Iceland for their honeymoon. Their childhood sweetheart romance—so touching, so profound—went viral overnight.

Meanwhile, I became the villain of the story: the homewrecker who'd come between true love. The online harassment got so bad I couldn't even leave my apartment.

Then the unthinkable happened—Ethan's blind rival showed up at my door.

"I believe in fair play," he said, leaning against my doorway. "Since Ethan stole my fiancée, I'll just have to steal his woman. Tit for tat, Miss Shaw. Care to make it official?"

I glanced at my phone where their aurora-lit kiss was trending worldwide. Without hesitation, I shoved my ID into his hands.

Even holding our marriage certificate, I could hardly believe it. Eight years with Ethan, and now I was legally bound to Henry—a man I'd barely met, who'd once been my opponent.

"No take-backs now," Henry said, running his fingers over the embossed seal. "When are you moving in?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. Thank God he couldn't see it. "Two weeks. I need time to pack."

"Perfect," he nodded, shoving a black card into my palm, his ears turning pink despite his cool demeanor. "That gives us time to plan the wedding. Buy whatever you want."

I bit back a smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Ten days into their honeymoon, Ethan finally remembered my existence.

"My flight lands at 3," he said, no greeting, no explanation—as if he hadn't publicly humiliated me. "Come pick me up."

For over a week, my social media had been flooded with their romantic escapades: steamy Blue Lagoon embraces, aurora-kissed proposals, eternal vows on black sand beaches—every single honeymoon destination I'd ever dreamed of.

"Get a cab," I said. "I'm busy."

There was a time I'd have dropped everything at his command. The silence on the line stretched before he hung up with a disgusted click.

I thought that was our unspoken breakup. Until I came home that evening to find him lounging on my couch in a robe.

"Place looks decent without me," he remarked, surveying the space where our couple photos used to hang. He nudged a grimy paper bag toward me. "Got you something."