Open in App for a smoother reading
Free preview · Faster loading · Save to library
MARRIED TO MY RIVAL
It was the fourth year of my marriage to my lifelong enemy.
He got into a car accident and lost his memory, frozen at a time before our wedding.
When he saw my wedding ring, his tone dripped with sarcasm.
"Who's the poor bastard that married you?"
1
I glanced at the gauze wrapped around his head and thought, Buddy, if I told you it was you, I'm genuinely worried you'd have a brain hemorrhage.
"Don't worry about it. It's not you, anyway."
"When did you get married?"
"Four years ago."
"What was I doing then?"
I smiled sweetly. "You gave me a generous gift."
His eyes dropped. "That's impossible."
Somehow, despite his striking features, there was a touch of loneliness in his expression.
Of course this man was impossible to fool, even with amnesia.
Given our relationship, there was no way he would've given me a generous wedding gift. He probably would've wanted to spike every guest's drink with laxatives to turn my wedding into the biggest joke in history.
Watching him space out like that, my hand moved faster than my brain.
I reached out and pinched his cheek. "Come on, let's go home."
"Home?" His eyes suddenly lit up, as if he'd glimpsed some kind of hope.
My brain scrambled for an excuse.
"Yeah, the Sterling family went bankrupt. Did you know?
"You're my servant now."
Quinn Sterling, who'd been holding it together until now, finally and completely shattered.
I committed fully to the act, briefing all the household staff in advance.
I'd also coordinated with his parents to keep Quinn at home for a while to recover, telling him this little white lie.
It would keep him from stressing about company matters.
So when he was in the car, clinging to one last thread of hope, and called his parents to verify...
Their answer was:
"Son, our family really did go bankrupt."
He lowered his phone, eyes rimming red. The golden boy, the heir to everything, had truly become a penniless nobody.
After a long silence, he finally spoke in a low voice:
"So... what do I do at your house?"
"Oh, lots of things. Laundry, cooking, serving tea and water, and oh—you massage my feet."
He turned away to look out the window, his sharp profile taking on a fragile quality in his dejection.
Anyone seeing him would think, What a heartbreaking sight.
Inside, I was dying of laughter, but I had to keep a straight face.
You have to understand—Quinn was normally an arrogant, untouchable ice prince.
His life had always been blessed, like he was touched by divine favor.
Everything came with fireworks and lightning.
I'd once declared that the only time I'd ever see Quinn cry over me would be at my funeral.
When that got back to him, he'd laughed and said, "Dream on. I'd just show up to set off firecrackers."
Seeing him this vulnerable now? Absolutely priceless.
I held back my laughter all the way home.
2
Once inside, I headed straight to my study to handle the paperwork that had piled up.
When I returned to my bedroom, I was shocked to find Quinn standing there.
In front of him sat a basin of... foot-soaking water.
He was just standing in my room looking dazed, and I felt a sinking feeling when I saw what he was holding.
His pajamas. And here's the thing about Quinn—he was absurdly sentimental about his clothes.
He'd been wearing the same pajama set since college, even four years into our marriage.
He turned to look at me, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"Aren't you married? Why are my things in your room?"
I walked over with a smile and grabbed his collar, pulling him close.
His ears turned red as he averted his gaze awkwardly. "What... what are you doing?"
My fingertips traced circles on his firm chest.
"After I got married, my husband has been abroad.
"You know how it is—long, lonely nights. A girl has needs."
He froze, stunned. "So I'm... your mistress?"
"Or maybe 'plaything' is more accurate?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could—
I looked up to see his eyes downcast, a shadow of melancholy at the corners.
His voice went dim. "Plaything... works for me."
Seeing him so dejected and pitiful, I wondered if I'd taken things too far.
Quinn was such a proud person.
Waking up to find he was suddenly a servant and a side piece? That had to sting.
But the next instant, he pulled me roughly into his arms.
With fierce, reckless determination, his lips crashed onto mine.
He kissed me like he was conquering territory, showing no mercy.
3
Even with amnesia, his skills in this department hadn't declined one bit.
He'd been in the hospital for two weeks, which meant I'd gone two weeks without any action.
The moment his lips touched mine, it was like a wildfire meeting gasoline—we tumbled into bed in a heated daze.
He was more intense than usual, pushing me until I begged for mercy.
In the moonlight, his eyes churned with raw desire and possessiveness.
He bit my earlobe, voice rough with an almost vicious edge. "Do you like it?"
"Yes... slower..."
"Who's better—me or your husband?"
"..."
"Answer me."
"Ah..." He bit down on my neck, his movements urgent and demanding.
I thought hazily, It's not that I don't want to answer—I genuinely don't know what to say, man.
"Why him and not me?" Right before I drifted off, I felt someone hold me tight.
Turning to burrow into his embrace had become pure instinct.
I nuzzled his chin, murmuring softly, "Babe..."
The body I was holding slowly... went rigid.
When I woke the next morning, I instinctively reached for the person beside me.
But I only found cold, empty sheets.
I jolted awake and scrambled out of bed.
When I saw the figure bustling around the dining table downstairs, relief washed over me.
Habit really was a terrifying thing.
I sat down at the table while Quinn and the other staff stood to the side.
I reached for his hand. "Come eat. Aren't you hungry after last night?"
Teasing him came so naturally to me now.
Looking a bit uncomfortable, he sat down. Halfway through the meal, he asked hesitantly:
"Your husband...
"Is it Brandon White?"
I nearly spat out my milk.
But I managed to hold it in.
Looking at his utterly devastated, lost expression, it was clear Brandon had left quite an impression in his memory.
4
To be fair, Brandon had been my first love.
In college, Brandon was the upperclassman who welcomed new students.
Unlike Quinn, who'd been held up as the golden standard my whole life—the person my relatives constantly compared me to.
We'd gotten into a huge fight as kids over who got to play the king in a game of pretend, and we'd been enemies ever since.
And yet, our life paths kept overlapping. We saw each other constantly.
Everything became a competition.
I learned piano, so his family bought a Steinway.
I studied oil painting, so he started sketching.
I said I wanted to go to Princeton; he said he'd get into Harvard.
In the end, he scored two hundred points higher than me on the SATs and still ended up at Princeton with me.
I said he was haunting me.
He said we were destined to cross paths.
On campus, we went our separate ways.
I was quickly swallowed by the crowd, wandering aimlessly. When I glanced back, Quinn's height and looks made him stand out like a crane among chickens.
I opened my mouth to call out to him, but a girl with flushed cheeks ran up to him, shyly and nervously asking for his phone number.
He looked down, sunlight catching his eyes, turning them golden.
The words died in my throat. I turned away, never knowing if he gave her his number that day.
That was when I met Brandon.
He smiled warmly and asked, "What's your major? Which class?"
He was the complete opposite of Quinn.
I confessed to him after a club outing.
We went to a theme park. I challenged him to an archery contest.
The prize for winning was a little stuffed animal.
I told him there was no way he'd win more than me.
As evening fell, people seemed gentler, more forgiving.
The night breeze ruffled his hair as he smiled softly. "Of course you'll win.
"Because I'm giving all my prizes to you."
I froze. Someone was willing to lose, just because I wanted to win.
That night, I confessed. And he said yes.
Brandon was a great boyfriend.
He'd bring me breakfast and flowers on every date.
Even when his research kept him in the lab day and night, he'd still make time to surprise me.
If things hadn't happened the way they did...
Maybe Quinn and I never would've ended up together.
Thinking about it, I couldn't help glancing at his profile.
My silence seemed like confirmation.
Quinn waited for me to deny it. When I didn't, he murmured quietly, "I see."
I was used to seeing him confident and untamed.
This wounded, put-upon expression tugged at my heartstrings.
"Actually, you—"
"I know. I'm just a mistress. I don't have the right to ask questions." Stubborn as hell, staring miserably at the ceiling.
5
Classic Quinn—his adaptability was first-rate.
A week after Brandon was mentioned, he actually returned from Europe.
He brought a team to join my partner company.
When I saw him at the office, he'd completely shed his college-era innocence.
He'd matured, grown more refined.
He took a sip of coffee, his voice still gentle.
"Evelyn, I've always felt like I owed you an apology."
Back then, young and naive, I didn't understand Brandon's choice. When he was leaving for Europe, I said I'd go with him.
For once, he'd looked at me seriously and said, "Evelyn, I don't want your life to change because of me."
"Why can't I go with you, but Julia can? You two are in the lab together every day, and now you're even leaving the country together—do you have feelings for her?!"
He said, "Because this is the path she was already taking. But you're different, Evelyn. This wasn't part of your life plan. Don't make this decision for me. I can't bear that responsibility."
Young and stubborn, I'd given him an ultimatum: "Let me come with you, or break up with me."
And so, we went our separate ways.
He left for Europe with the girl who shared his ambitions.
I'd hated Brandon for a while, convinced he'd only treated me that way because he'd fallen fo