Outcast To Queen: The Knight's Vengeful Bride

"Branden, tell me…am I so much better than her?"

Dorathy's voice drifted from the bedroom, lazy and deliberately saccharine, like she was tasting a victory candy.

"Of course, baby," Branden's voice came low and flippant. "Chloe? She's like a bowl of soup without salt—bland, boring, just a tool to keep my family off my back. You're what I truly want. Every inch of you outshines her."

Then Dorathy's triumphant little giggle.

Chloe Hayes stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wild,shattered, but blazing with a grief so hot it felt like rage. On the bed, tangled in the sheets she had slept in just two nights ago, were her fiancé, Branden Knight, and her own sister, Dorathy Hayes.

But the night had begun with hope.

One hour earlier,Chloe Hayes cradled the warm container of tomato soup against her chest, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips.

She had made it from scratch today because Branden Knight had been telling her for weeks that his stomach was bothering him, so she specially made his favorite tomato soup.

Outside, the rain hammered the streets of Manhattan, smearing the neon lights into bleeding, watercolor streaks.

She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out her keychain. Among the collection of keys was a silver one, heavier than the rest, cold against her palm, engraved with a simple "B&C." The key to Branden's apartment.

His luxury building on the Upper East Side loomed out of the rain. She pulled up to the curb, tilting her head to look up at the 19th floor. The window was dark.

He's probably already asleep, she thought.

The idea of quietly letting herself in, placing the soup in his fridge for him to find in the morning, filled her with a warm, sweet feeling.

She swiped her key card at the main entrance. The doorman, a kind man named George, gave her a familiar nod, but tonight his eyes slid away too quickly, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Evening, Ms. Hayes."

"Hi, George. Nasty weather tonight."

The elevator ascended smoothly, its mirrored walls reflecting her hopeful face. Her long brown hair was damp from the run from the car.

She stepped out onto the plush carpet of the 19th floor and walked to his door. She slid the silver key into the lock, but the bolt didn't catch. The door wasn't locked. It was slightly ajar, a dark sliver of space between the door and its frame.

A knot of unease tightened in her stomach.

Did he forget to lock it? Or... does he have company?

She pressed her ear to the crack, listening.

Silence.

Then, a low, muffled sound. A woman's soft laugh, followed by a suppressed moan that was unmistakably intimate.

Chloe's heart plunged. Her breath caught in her throat.

It's a movie, she told herself, her fingers growing cold. He likes those trashy horror films. But the laugh came again, too real, too close.

Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open. The edge of the soup container bumped against the doorframe with a soft clink.

The living room was empty, too still, the air thick with perfume she didn't wear.

But on the entryway rug lay a pair of red high heels. They weren't hers. They were expensive, a brand she recognized instantly.

Chloe had been with her sister, Dorathy Hayes, just last week when Dorathy had gushed over this exact pair of shoes.

The blood drained from her face. Her stomach dropped as if the floor had vanished.

Why would Dorathy be here?

The sounds were coming from the master bedroom. Like a ghost, she slipped off her shoes and moved across the cold marble floor. Her steps made no sound, but her heartbeat slammed in her ears.

The voice hit her like a blade between the ribs.

"Branden... are you really going to call off the engagement with Chloe?" It was Dorathy's voice, coy and a little breathless.

Chloe froze, her entire body turning to ice. The edges of her vision blurred white-hot.

"Of course, baby." Branden's voice was a low, indulgent rumble. "I'd only gotten engaged to Chloe to keep my family out of my business, letting them think I'd built a stable life for myself.Now that I have you, how could I ever let you suffer wrongs?"

Each word was a nail driven into Chloe's chest.

Through the gap, she saw them. Two bodies tangled in the sheets of the bed she had slept in just two nights ago.

She saw Branden, her fiancé, kissing Dorathy's shoulder. And Dorathy, her sister, her golden hair spread across Branden's pillow, her red nails trailing down his back.

"Branden, tell me……"

Then followed another string of filthy remarks.

The air left Chloe's lungs in a single, soundless gasp.

The thermal container slipped from her numb fingers.

It hit the marble floor with a deafening clang. The lid popped off, and thick, red tomato soup exploded across the floor in a violent streak.

The two in the bed froze. Their heads snapped toward the door.

Panic flashed across their faces, then curdled into horror as they saw her standing there.

Dorathy let out a small shriek, pulling the sheet up to cover herself.

Branden's face went bone-white. He opened his mouth, but no words came out as he scrambled to find his pants, hands shaking.

Chloe stood in the doorway, shaking so hard her knees knocked together. Her green eyes were wild—shattered, but blazing with a grief so hot it felt like rage. She looked at Dorathy, her voice a raw whisper that scraped out of her throat.

"Why?"

After the initial shock, Dorathy's composure returned with sickening speed. A cruel smile twisted her lips. "Because Branden and I are in love. And you, Chloe, you're just in the way."

Branden, now in his pants, moved to Dorathy's side, shielding her with his body as if Chloe were the threat. He wouldn't meet Chloe's eyes.

"What Dorathy said is true," he mumbled, the words thin and cowardly. "Chloe, we're over."

"Over?" Chloe repeated the word. It cracked in her mouth like a stranger's curse.

The scene was a nightmare. The two of them, half-dressed and guilty. Her, standing in the doorway, pathetic and broken. And on the floor between them, the ruin of her loving gesture.