Marrying Her Worst Enemy For Revenge

In a rare quiet moment during our pre-wedding photoshoot, my phone buzzed. I opened the smart home app, only to find the living room camera feed somehow timestamped eight years into the future.

The decor in the frame was still warm, comforting, and familiar. Our framed portrait hung in its usual place above the fireplace.

But then the camera panned.

A soft, rhythmic sound drifting from the half-open bedroom door made my ears hot. Even eight years from now, it seemed, Nina and I were still deeply in love.

But when the man in the room finally turned toward the camera, the smile died on my face.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

It wasnt me. It was Owen, my star student.

My thumb violently swiped the screen, killing the app.

I looked up. Just yards away, Owen was standing by the tripods, meticulously adjusting the focus on his camera lens.

The boy I had taken under my wing. My protg.

The high-pitched ringing in my ears made my head spin. My hand clutched the phone so hard it shook.

Liam? What are you staring at?

Ninas voice snapped me back to the present.

I forced my head to turn.

She was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the ivory lace of her custom bridal gown.

I swear Ive gained weight. The zipper is stuck near the top. Be a sweetheart and help me, will you?

I stared at her back, the image from the future still searing itself into my retinas. My voice felt like dry sand as I managed a choked murmur. As I reached out to pull up the zipper, my fingers brushed against her shoulder blade. Nestled right there, delicate and freshly inked, was a small black-and-grey butterfly.

I had never noticed it before.

Is that tattoo new? I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Nina went rigid for a split second, then recovered with a light, airy nod. Oh, yeah. A girl at the office recommended her artist. I was curious, so I got it on a whim. Do you like it?

I opened my mouth, but before I could squeeze out a reply, Owen called out from the studio floor.

Hey, Nina, are you ready? Ive got the lighting dialed in.

The moment he spoke, her attention fractured. She practically glided past me, leaving my hands hanging in the empty air.

Arent you supposed to be at the regional qualifiers today? Nina asked him, her voice softer than it usually was with me. How did you even make time to run over here?

Owen, with the heavy professional DSLR strapped across his chest, looked at her with a bright, boyish grin. Today is my mentor's big shoot. Theres no way Id miss this, Nina.

Nina beamed, grabbing my arm to pull me in front of the backdrop.

After the shoot, I drove us home. Nina sat in the passenger seat, completely absorbed in her phone, scrolling through the raw files Owen had air-dropped her.

Owens got a real eye for composition, doesnt he? Babe, you really know how to pick them. Your students are in a league of their own.

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My throat burned.

At a red light, I finally broke the silence.

The butterfly tattoo. Did you get it with Owen?

The smile on Ninas face vanished instantly. She turned to stare at me, her gaze sharpening.

When he was holding the camera, I noticed a matching tattoo on his wrist, I said, my voice remarkably flat despite the trembling in my chest. And the new leather bear keychain on my car keys? Owen has the exact same one. I looked it up. Theyre sold as a couple's set.

I tried to keep my breathing even, but the tremor broke through. Nina. Is there something you arent telling me?

Ninas expression darkened into pure, cold hostility.

What the hell is that supposed to mean, Liam? We literally just finished our engagement shoot and youre trying to pick a fight?

When are you going to get over this insane paranoia? A stupid keychain and a tattoo, and your mind goes straight to the gutter?

She spat the words, her voice laced with defensive fury. But her anger only made my stomach sink further. Nina wasnt someone who flared up easily. She only yelled when she was backed into a corner.

Pull over, she demanded.

The tires hugged the curb as I slid the car into park. Nina tore her seatbelt off, her face a mask of cold indifference.

We havent signed the papers at City Hall yet, Liam. If you keep acting like a lunatic, Im going to seriously reconsider whether this wedding is a good idea.

The passenger door slammed shut with a force that rocked the chassis, bringing in a rush of bitter autumn air. I leaned back against the headrest, pulling a cigarette from the console. I didnt light it. I just let it sit between my fingers, unlit, as I pulled out my phone.

The smart home app was updating.

A new future feed appeared.

The living room wall was bare now. Our portrait had been ripped down, leaving a pale square on the drywall. The minimalist, clean aesthetic I had carefully curated over the years was gone, replaced by Owens gaming consoles, his dual-monitor setups, his clutter. And down the hall, a door was open to a freshly painted nursery.

Through the tiny screen, I watched them like a common thief, spying on the cozy, domestic life Nina and Owen had built.

A sudden spark caught my attentionI realized I had unconsciously lit the cigarette. The cherry burned down, singeing my knuckle. I flinched, dropping it.

The future Nina in the video said she had successfully hidden it from me for eight years.

But what about the present Nina?

How long had she been lying to me already?

I sat there in a daze until the aggressive blare of a horn behind me jerked me back to reality. I turned the key, but the engine groaned and died. Before I could even register the stall, a massive shadow loomed in my side mirror. A heavy flatbed truck, swerving violently, slammed into my driver's side with a deafening screech of metal.

The world spun.

The chassis crumpled like paper. A white-hot agony flared in my lower half, pinning my legs beneath the crushed dashboard. Warm, sticky blood poured from my forehead, blurring my vision.

With shaking fingers, I managed to find my phone and dialed Nina.

The call rang to voicemail. I dialed again. And again. Nothing but her cheerful prerecorded greeting.

Distant sirens wailed in the background as bystanders gathered around the wreckage. Slowly, the dark pool of unconsciousness swallowed me whole.

When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile smell of bleach and isopropyl alcohol filled my nose. My legs were encased in heavy plaster casts, elevated on a sling. A doctor stood by the bed, flipping through a clipboard. He explained that the truck driver had been heavily intoxicated and had drifted across three lanes before striking my car.

I lay there, staring at my phone. It was completely silent. No missed calls. No texts.

The police would have notified Nina the moment I was admitted. Yet, twenty-four hours had passed, and she hadnt even sent a single text.

Liam, my god. I got here as fast as I could.

Dave, my assistant, burst into the room, panting. He stopped dead when he saw the state of my legs.

Liam... how are you going to play in the National Championship in two days?

The word championship cleared the fog in my brain instantly. It was the tournament of my careerthe culmination of a lifetime of competitive chess. The title of Grandmaster was within my grasp.

Ill play in a wheelchair if I have to, I rasped, my throat raw. I am not missing this tournament, Dave.

Daves face fell, filled with a deep, agonizing hesitation. He looked down at his shoes before speaking.

Nina already withdrew your name, Liam.

What?

She signed the waiver. She transferred your invitation to Owen. She made me promise not to tell you... the qualifiers actually started this morning. Youve already defaulted.

The remaining color drained from my face. My chest felt hollow.

She did what?

Dave offered a pitying look, set a basket of fruit on the bedside table, and quietly slipped out of the room.

The hospital room fell dead silent, save for the rhythmic, mocking tick of the wall clock. Trembling, I grabbed my phone and dialed Nina's number. It rang for nearly a minute before she finally picked up.

The background noise on her end was deafeningthe distinct roar of a stadium crowd.

What is it, Liam? her voice sounded tinny and distracted.

I gripped the phone so hard the glass creaked. Why didn't you tell me? You knew how much this championship meant to me!

Even face-to-face with my despair, Ninas voice remained cool, utterly untroubled.

Liam, youve already won plenty of trophies. Owen is your student; its time you let him have his moment in the spotlight. I think I made the right executive decision.

I heard about your accident. Just rest up.

The line went dead.

Her casual, dismissive tone echoed in my ears. I had spent ten years with this woman. I had seen her angry, sad, excited, and vulnerable. But I had never seen her this cold.

She knew exactly what that tournament meant to me.

The television screen mounted on the hospital wall flickered, transitioning from a commercial to a live broadcast of the championship qualifiers. The camera immediately focused on Owen. He was the golden boy todaythe brilliant student of the legendary Liam Mercer.

And sitting in the front row of the VIP section was Nina.

The camera caught her face. Her eyes were wide, glittering with a mixture of adoration and fierce pride. It was a look I recognized instantly.

Ten years ago, when I won my first major title, she had snuck past security just to throw her arms around my neck. She had looked at me with that exact same gaze.

A sharp, physical pain bloomed in my chest, making it hard to draw breath.

On screen, Owen closed out his final game with an effortless checkmate. During his post-match interview, he flashed a dazzling smile at the reporters.

I wouldnt be standing here today without the selfless guidance of my mentor, Liam Mercer, Owen said into the cluster of microphones. And, of course, Nina, who has been my absolute rock.

Then, his smile faltered, replaced by a solemn, rehearsed gravity as he looked directly into the camera lens.

But standing here today, I realize I cant let this go on. I want to blow the whistle on a fraud. The man you all call a geniusmy mentor, Liam Mercerhas been systematically cheating in professional tournaments for years.

The press room erupted into chaos. Within thirty seconds, my phone began vibrating continuously as my name trended on social media alongside the word Fraud.

I stared at Owens face on the screen, my entire body numb with shock.

I had to get to the venue. I had to face them.

But as I swung my legs over the bed, the heavy plaster dragged me down, and I collapsed onto the linoleum floor with a sickening thud.

The hospital room doors burst open. Somehow, a horde of reporters had bypassed the front desk. They flooded the room, ignoring the screaming nurses, their camera flashes blinding me in rapid succession.

Microphones were shoved into my face.

Mr. Mercer, are the cheating allegations true?

How do you respond to your own student calling you a fraud?

I couldnt answer. The agony in my legs flared as I tried to pull myself up, only to slip and fall again. My pathetic, undignified struggle was captured live and broadcasted directly to the internet.

They didnt care about the truth. They only cared about the blood in the water.

By afternoon, angry mobs of former fans began showing up outside the hospital. Some managed to slip past security into the ward.

How could you lie to us, Liam? My kid looked up to you!

Youre a disgrace to the game!

The confrontation grew physical. Someone shoved me hard against the bedframe. My fresh surgical incisions tore, and dark red blood began seeping through the white plaster of my casts, pooling onto the floor. It wasnt until late evening, when the police finally arrived to clear the hospital, that the nightmare paused.

I lay in the dark, my mind fractured.

Near midnight, the door clicked open. Nina stepped into the room. Seeing my blood-stained casts and pale face, her lips pressed into a tight, hard line. She sat on the edge of the mattress and took my cold hand, her voice thick with forced emotion.

Im sorry. I didnt know the media would track you down here, she murmured.

She was sorry about the media. But she hadnt said a word to defend my honor against Owens lies.

You know hes lying, Nina, I whispered, my eyes burning.

Ninas brow furrowed. She let go of my hand, standing up to distance herself.

Owen has proof, Liam. Honestly, I didn't think you'd resort to cheating just to stay on top... She saw the raw, broken betrayal in my eyes, and her voice hitched. Look, youve already won everything there is to win. You told me yourself you wanted to retire soon anyway. Why not just use this as an opportunity to step away?

Owen had destroyed my lifes work with a single sentence. The boy who had been starving on the streets before I took him in, taught him every strategy I knew, and gave him a home.

When did it start? I asked quietly.

Nina froze. What?

You and Owen. How long?

With a loud clatter, Nina kicked back her chair as she rose. Her face flushed with synthetic outrage.

Are you out of your mind? What kind of disgusting accusations are you throwing around? Owen is a sweet boy who had nothing, and hes your student! Is it a crime for me to look after him as his future mentor's wife?

Look after him.

She didn't even realize her lipstick was smeared at the corners of her mouth. I let out a dry, humorless laugh, all the fight draining from my bones.

She paced around the bed, taking deep, agitated breaths. Finally, she knelt beside me, seizing my hand again. Her eyes welled with tears.

Owen and I are nothing. I swear to you. I didnt know he was going to say those things today. Once your legs heal, well go straight to City Hall and make this official, okay?

She stayed for another ten minutes before making an excuse about an early meeting and leaving.

The moment the door clicked shut, I pulled out my phone and opened the smart home app.

The future feed had shifted again.

In the center of the living room, a framed black-and-white portrait of me sat on a console table, flanked by a flickering memorial candle. Nina was curled up on the sofa, resting her head on Owens shoulder as they stared at my picture.

Next week is the anniversary of Liams death, Nina murmured. We should probably attend the memorial service. He was your teacher, after all. What we did eight years ago... it still feels wrong.

Owen kissed the top of her head, his voice dripping with casual indifference. I only paid that guy to clip his car so hed miss the tournament, Nina. Who knew hed be fragile enough to swallow a handful of pills over a ruined reputation? You cant blame me for him being weak.

He pulled her closer. Besides, hes dead. Im the one whos here with you now.

The video ended.

My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I didn't have the courage to replay it.

The crash. The cheating scandal. The public ruin.

It was all them. They had orchestrated my suicide.

As I sat there shivering in the dark, my screen lit up with a text message from an unsaved number.

Liam, I can help you.

It was Fiona Sinclair, Ninas oldest, most bitter rival.

Perhaps out of some lingering, misplaced guilt, Nina spent the next few weeks playing the doting fiance, fussing over my recovery. For a long time, Owen stayed entirely out of sight, avoiding my calls and texts. That is, until he won the National Grandmaster Championship.

By then, I had been discharged from the hospital.

When Owen showed up at our house, he didnt even greet me. He dropped to his knees right in front of my wheelchair.

Im so sorry, Liam, he sobbed.

Nina immediately stepped forward, slapping him across the face with a theatrical force. You have some nerve showing up here! He made you who you are, and you stabbed him in the back! Even if he did cheat, it wasnt your place to ruin him!

I watched her closely. She sounded like she was defending me, but her words carefully reinforced the lie that I was a cheater. It was a well-rehearsed performance, and they were putting it on just for me.

Why are you here, Owen? I asked, my voice flat.

Owen blinked, seemingly thrown off by my lack of emotion. He cleared his throat. Liam... I want you to come to my victory banquet tonight. I want to publicly credit you for everything you taught me.

Nina pinched her brows together. There are going to be dozens of reporters there, Owen. He cant go

Ill go, I interrupted.

She turned to me, stunned. Liam?

After all, I said, looking Owen dead in the eye, he is my student.

The next day, Nina woke up before sunrise. I watched her spend hours in front of the vanity, meticulously styling her hair and selecting her dress. She was dressing up for Owens big night, not for me.

The banquet was held at a five-star hotel downtown. The grand ballroom was packed with elite members of the competitive chess community. The moment I rolled into the room, the whispers started. I caught the snide glances and mocking smirks.

If my own protg called me out for cheating, Id never show my face in public again.

Disgraceful. I feel dirty just breathing the same air as him.

Ninas hand tightened on my shoulder. Just ignore them, Liam. They dont know anything.

The reporters in the room descended on us like vultures, their cameras clicking furiously. In the center of the ballroom, Owen stood surrounded by sponsors and fans, holding his trophy. He walked over to us, wearing a humble, apologetic mask.

Liam, Im so glad you made it. I was worried you still hated me...

I let out a quiet laugh, loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear.

Weve been through a lot, Owen. Since Im here to celebrate your victory, its only fair you come to my wedding next month.

The room fell quiet. Guests exchanged confused glances. Everyone knew Nina was my fiance, but the tension in my voice was impossible to ignore.

Owens smile faltered. Of course, Liam. I wouldnt miss your and Nina's big day for the world.

But Ninas face drained of color. She frowned, her voice hushed but angry. Liam, what are you doing? We agreed to postpone the wedding. Don't do this here. This is Owens nightdont try to steal his spotlight.

I let out a soft sigh, gently reaching up to pry her hand off my shoulder. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, cream-colored envelope.

Nina, Im getting married. But not to you.