My Heart Turned To Stone For Him

marriage with the powerful Camden Winters. It was a cold transa

s fragile childhood sweetheart, the "unforgettable

in the hospital, the doctors asked my hus

Bria

the lies and betrayals, I finally understood

wn, destroyed the new life I had built, and dragged

. I made him a promise, and then I broke it, leavi

pte

Donalds

ed charcoal on my cheek, the late-night gallery openings turned into impromptu performance art. They saw a rebel, an artist who didn' t give a damn about pedig

y afternoon, the gilded cage I called my studio became a trap. My phone buzzed with an urgent summons. It wasn't a request. It

ughter he wished I was. My stomach twisted. Call it instinct, but I knew this wasn't abou

back to me, the city sprawling beneath him like a toy set. Across from him, a man I vaguely recognized from society pages stood ramrod straight, his eyes like chipped g

ice devoid of warmth. "Camden and I have r

hadn't even looked at me when he dropped that bomb. It was a transaction. I was the c

ry precision. My own hair, a riot of auburn curls, felt suddenly unruly, a defiant mess against his stark order. He was a fortress, I was a wild current. He built walls, I wanted

a raw, guttural sound

e annoyance than disappointment. "You don't have

gnized. I would burn it all down. I would make myself so unpalatable, so utterl

Square, where I painted a giant, grotesque caricature of a corporate wedding cake, using only my bare hands and buckets of neon paint. The tabloids dubbed me "The Unruly B

father was apoplectic. Camden, however, simply walked over, his face betraying nothing, and calmly draped his jacket over my shoulders. "Let's go home, Ashton," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, as

l-it had to be enough. But Camden was there to bail me out before the ink on the police report was even dry. He just stood there, his jaw tight,

g calm and efficiency, clean up the mess. My father would rage, my friends would cheer me on, but Camden remained this unsh

I threw a punch, then another, a whirlwind of anger and frustration. Next thing I knew, I was in a holding cell, the metallic scen

eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He looked utterly drained, more human than I' d ever seen

nd the silence stretched between us, heavier than usual. My hand throbbed. I' d scraped it raw on

h was surprisingly soft. He turned my hand over, his thumb tracing the jagged cut

with fatigue, broke the

was fighting. Not my friends, who would have bought me another drink. Not even myself, because I was too busy being angry to

Ava, my childhood nanny, used to care for me just like that. She was the only person who ever saw past my performance, past the "wild child" act, to the s

, the word barely

ed the wound gently, his fingers surprisingly deft, and then applied a small bandage

looked me in the ey

nsactional nature of my family, the constant pressure to be something I wasn't. And then, this unexpected mome

tion in his eyes seemed to lift, replaced by something I couldn't quit

me, Camden Winters, that there is no 'unforgettable love' in your past.

e, searching for any tell, any hesitation. Nothing. He was a SEAL, after all.

. So I did. I agreed. The news sent shockwaves through New York society. The wild child, tamed. The headlines screame

once banished, adorned the walls. He attended my shows, sometimes even stood by my side, a silent, imposing figure who somehow made my rebellion seem... chic. The world believed his illusion. They b

meetings. I was planning a surprise, a small, ridiculous attempt at domesticity, a gesture of peace offering for a busy week. I found him

gh the fragile peace I had built. "My biggest lie," he confessed, his voice tight, "w

as sucked out of my lungs. Every tender gesture, every patient cleanup, every soft touch-it all twisted into a grotesque m

could see the devastation etched on my face. The rain outside mirrored the storm raging within me

sweetheart, had been kidnapped. A business rival, the reports said. Camden was

hattered; it had exploded, leaving shards of glass in my soul. I was nothing but a means to

. And now, I would find out why. I would unravel every thread of this

ow him," I commanded, my voice flat,