Chapter 1 Just a Replacement

A crushing physical weight pressed Rowena Astor deeply into the mattress, driving the very breath from her lungs. She awakened in stark horror, her body paralyzed by the sudden, suffocating pressure bearing down on her chest. The heavy, intoxicating stench of expensive whiskey filled her nostrils with every panicked inhalation. She blinked against the pitch-black room, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs until her vision adjusted to the darkness. The imposing, muscular silhouette pinning her down belonged to her legally wedded husband of three years, Kingston Thorne.

Before she could even call out his name to ask what he was doing, Kingston shifted his heavy weight. Without a single word of warning, he reached down, positioned himself, and thrust his hard penis deep into her vagina.

Rowena gasped, her fingers digging frantically into the expensive bedsheets. A tearing, stabbing pain ripped through her core as he forcefully breached her unprepared body. She bit her lower lip to swallow a shocked cry. For three agonizing years, ever since his grandfather, Alistair Thorne, had forced them into this matrimony, Kingston had treated her like invisible air. He had never spared her a single glance, let alone touched her with such raw, primal aggression.

Yet tonight, he was here, claiming her with ruthless, alcohol-fueled momentum.

He grunted softly in the dark, pulling his cock back before driving it into her flesh again. The friction was brutal at first. Rowena endured the intense sting, clutching his broad, tense shoulders as he moved over her. But as Kingston maintained his forceful rhythm, plunging his penis in and out of her with increasing urgency, the initial tearing pain gradually morphed into a state of breathless, overwhelming bliss. The scorching heat of his body and the raw intimacy of the act ignited a dormant desire within her. Soft, seductive moans tumbled from her lips. She felt as though she was floating, lost in the sheer physical pleasure of her husband finally taking her.

She was overjoyed, overwhelmed by the vulnerability of this moment. She genuinely believed he had walked into her room tonight because he was finally willing to consummate their hollow marriage.

Two hours later, with a deep, guttural groan, Kingston delivered a final, deep thrust. He climaxed, his breathing ragged, before collapsing onto her in exhaustion. The moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated his sweaty, muscular frame heavy against her chest.

Listening to his rapid heartbeat thumping against her own, Rowena wrapped her arms tightly around his damp neck. Her eyes swam with deeply lovesick, tear-filled emotions. The rigorous intimacy left her panting, her heart overflowing with a foolish, desperate hope.

She gazed up at his striking profile, her voice soft and trembling with pure affection. "Kingston... Kingston, I really—"

Before the word 'love' could even pass her lips, Kingston let out a low, hoarse murmur in his unconscious state.

"Anca..."

The single word instantly froze the blood in Rowena's veins. Her breathing stopped. Her body turned to solid ice.

Pure, blinding agony savagely clenched her heart as the brutal reality set in.

Anca.

Anca was Bianca Loxley. She was Kingston’s beloved childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been sent abroad years ago by his grandfather. The woman who had just returned to the country yesterday.

A cruel, mocking text message flashed in Rowena’s mind, echoing in the silent bedroom. Bianca had sent it just the day prior. *I'm back, Rowena, and there's no longer a place for you in the Thorne family! King and I are childhood sweethearts. Do you think you can take my place in just a few years? Scram! Go back to the orphanage, for that's where you belong! You've got no idea how much he loves me, huh? Even if he's lying in your bed, he'll undoubtedly call out my name! You're only worthy of being my temporary, pathetic replacement. It must be a bitter feeling, huh, Rowena?*

She had tried to deny it then. She had boldly told herself she was the rightful Mrs. Thorne. But lying here, pinned beneath the heavy, sleeping weight of her husband, his unconscious murmuring utterly trampled the last remaining shreds of her dignity. Even with his penis buried inside her, his mind and heart belonged to another woman.

Rowena spent the entire night staring into the darkness, weeping silently. Sleep evaded her. The hot tears soaked her pillow as her mind spiraled through her three years of blind subservience. She had shrunk herself to dust just to be the flawless, perfect wife. She had abandoned her own promising career, dedicating every waking hour to managing his life. She had endured the relentless, snobbish humiliation hurled by his mother and sister, swallowing every elitist insult they threw at her background just to keep the peace in the Thorne household.

She had sacrificed her very soul, and for what? He had just used her body as a vessel to fuck the memory of his first love.

The glaring morning sun eventually pierced the bedroom, casting harsh, unforgiving light across the tangled sheets. The brightness awakened Kingston. He shifted, rubbing his pounding temples with a groan. As the fragmented, blurred memories of the night's sexual encounter crashed into his conscious mind, he realized where he was. He realized whose bed he was in.

The temperature in the master bedroom plummeted to freezing.

Rowena sat quietly at her dressing table across the room. She wore a simple silk robe, her back turned to his radiating hostility. She was calmly trying to apply her morning skincare, forcing her trembling fingers to go through the mundane motions.

Without warning, heavy footsteps thumped aggressively against the hardwood. Kingston stormed over. His large hand clamped around her fragile wrist like an iron vise, roughly seizing her. He yanked her up from her vanity seat.

The sudden, jarring force caused her fingers to slip. The heavy glass skincare bottle plummeted from her grasp. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces across the polished floor, splashing thick white lotion over the wood.

Rowena stumbled, her heart jolting in her chest as she snapped her head up to meet his gaze. Kingston stood tall, his large frame towering over her. His handsome features were twisted into a savage, demonic sneer. He looked at her with furious, repulsed eyes.

"Did you think drugging me to get into my bed would make you the real Mrs. Thorne?" he interrogated, his voice a lethal, malicious hiss. He tightened his brutal grip on her wrist, making her delicate bones grind together.

Rowena stared up at him, pale and broken. The accusation struck her, knocking the air from her lungs. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped her throat. "Is that truly the kind of woman you perceive me to be?"

Intense repugnance blazed fiercely in Kingston's dark eyes. "Stop feigning innocence!" he viciously spat, his tone laced with venom. "Didn't you fool my grandfather with despicable tricks to force this marriage three years ago? You manipulated him to trap me. An inherently shameless woman like you isn't even worthy of carrying Anca's slippers!"

The bitter irony of his words pierced Rowena's very soul. The agonizing, bone-deep pain radiating from her captured wrist was nothing compared to the laceration of his ruthless insults. If she had ever truly wanted to use dirty tactics like drugging him, she wouldn't have waited three miserable, lonely years in a cold, sexless marriage. She would have done it on their wedding night.

He didn't know her at all. He had never even bothered to try.

The realization hit her with crystal clarity. Her total self-sacrifice had yielded nothing but his pure, unadulterated loathing. He saw her as a manipulative, disgusting schemer. The fragile illusion of her marriage shattered permanently, splintering just like the broken glass at their feet. The deep emotional agony that had choked her all night vanished, replaced by a chilling resolve.

Enduring the fierce pain in her wrist, Rowena drew in a slow, deep breath. The subservient, cautious wife died in that very second. She gritted her teeth, gathering every ounce of her remaining physical strength. With a fierce jerk, she forcefully shook off his restraining hand.

She took a step back, standing amidst the broken shards. She tilted her head up high, meeting his furious gaze without a single ounce of fear. Her voice was stripped of its former subservience, carrying a firm, resolute finality as she delivered her verdict.

"Let's get a divorce, Kingston."