Trading My Fiancé for His Enemy - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

I found Derek wasted again at the bar's VIP lounge, so I brought him clam chowder like an idiot.
The usually arrogant and aloof Derek was a mess—shirt rumpled, hair disheveled, arms draped around Rebecca like she was his personal teddy bear. Rebecca's lips were swollen, her white dress making her look like some virginal angel playing innocent.
"Derek, stop... your fiancée will be furious!" Rebecca fake-protested, clutching her neckline like some Victorian maiden while batting her eyelashes.
Drunk on lust and liquor, Derek slurred, "Sheila can't hold a candle to you. She's just a placeholder."
Someone snorted, "Aren't you worried she'll dump your ass if you push too far?"
Derek rolled his eyes. "That clingy bitch? I've tried shaking her off for years. She's like bad karma."
Rebecca did this fake pout. "Derek! That's so mean!"
"Mean?" He laughed. "I told her straight up I feel nothing, yet she's been glued to me for four and a half years. Pathetic."
The room erupted in douchebag laughter.
Then I kicked the door open.
Dead silence.
I wordlessly shoved the chowder into Rebecca's hands. "Wedding's off. Enjoy your trash."
Derek blinked like I'd slapped him. "Sheila, take that back right—"
"We're done." My voice was scarier for how calm it was.
Some idiot tried damage control: "Come on, Sheila! You know Derek's all bark—"
"Let her go!" Derek snarled. "She'll come crawling back by midnight."
Rebecca smirked behind his back as I yanked off my engagement ring and tossed it at her. I snatched back my chowder and walked out to panicked shouts:
"Derek! What about the venue deposits?!"
"She'll be begging before last call," he declared, then planted a sloppy kiss on Rebecca's cheek.
I almost laughed. When I loved him, he was my sun. Now? Just some guy.
Blocked his number. Deleted his photos. Called everyone: "Cancel the wedding."
Cue the dramatics—parents threatening to disown me, friends whining about "five years down the drain." The Fletchers and Joneses were Kinnaird royalty, and nobody wanted the scandal.
Maybe I'd played the obedient doll too well. But they didn't know the monster sleeping inside me.
I'd only chased Derek to escape someone worse.
My phone buzzed. Ethan: "Get in the car, trouble. I'll keep you safe."
Of course he'd heard. Ethan Cross—Kinnaird's most infamous playboy, the devil with a trust fund. Back in school, he'd been my personal nightmare.
I still remembered being trapped in the library stacks, his teeth drawing blood from my lip as he growled, "Just wanted your attention, cutie." Derek had "rescued" me that day, making me his loyal puppy.
Speak of the devil—Ethan leaned against his Rolls-Royce outside the club, all tailored suit and trouble. He crooked a finger, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Something in me snapped. I climbed into his car.
"Missed me, trouble?" he purred.
I shoved the chowder at him. "Hungry?"
"Deathly allergic."
"I made it."
Ethan took the bowl. "For you, I'd drink bleach." He gulped it down, then choked. "Tastes like dishwater!"
"Meant for stray dogs. Lucky you."
He fake-gasped. "I'm hurt!"
"Why are you here, Ethan?"
For the first time, I really looked at him—the sharp jawline, the predatory grace. Time had only magnified his dangerous charm.
"To claim what's mine."
I snorted. "Not happening." My heart couldn't take round two.
"Scared?"
"Smart."
He leaned closer. "Derek got his childhood sweetheart. Why can't you have yours?"
"My what—" I gaped. "You?!"
Ethan smirked. "Rather go back to that clown?"
"Over my dead body."
His grin turned feral. "Good girl."
The car stopped at a six-star hotel—owned by Derek's family, naturally.
"Ethan, what the hell—"
"Best revenge?" He dragged me inside. "Checking into his hotel with his worst enemy."
The elevator doors barely closed before he had me pinned, his kiss a wildfire compared to Derek's lukewarm pecks. I was dizzy, molten, when—
Ding.
There stood Derek and Rebecca, slack-jawed.
Rebecca fake-gasped: "Sheila's cheating?!"
Ethan broke away just to flip Derek off.
Derek turned purple. "SHEILA!"
Ethan whispered in my ear: "Want to really make him lose it?" His hand slid lower. "Say yes."