I’ll Marry His Rival and Burn His Empire to Ash Chapter 03

I’ll Marry His Rival and Burn His Empire to Ash Chapter 03

I never replied to Jackson’s email. I never got a call from him, either.

It was as if the video that should have upended his entire world was just a stone I’d tossed into the ocean, sinking without so much as a ripple.

Three days later, my body had fully recovered. Chloe came to pick me up.

She blew into the bedroom like a storm, her eyes scanning the room, not finding the person she was looking for.

“Where’s Jackson? He didn’t come?” She frowned, incredulous. “He was never like this before.”

“I remember one summer, you got a single mosquito bite in the garden, and the next day he had every rose on the estate ripped out and replaced with lavender.”

“Now you nearly die in that damp stable, and he can’t even be bothered to show his face?”

I cut her off calmly. “It’s over, Chloe.”

Charleston’s annual Magnolia and Ivy charity luncheon was held to raise money for the children’s hospital. In previous years, I had always sat at the head table as the mistress of the Devereaux family.

This year, I sat with Chloe in an inconspicuous corner.

Then I saw Savannah-Claire.

She wore an ivory dress, trying desperately to weave her way through the clusters of socialites and society wives, a flattering smile plastered on her face.

Chloe stabbed at the kale salad on her plate and gave a disdainful snort.

“My God, isn’t that a knockoff of last year’s Oscar de la Renta? The seams are practically splitting.” Her voice was just loud enough for the ladies at the next table to hear. “How did she even get an invitation? I thought they had standards here.”

Whispers spread like ripples through the room.

“So that’s the one the Devereauxs are keeping on the side?”

“She looks so pitiful, like an ugly duckling trying to force her way into a flock of swans.”

“Jackson’s taste is really… something else.”

Savannah-Claire’s face flushed scarlet. She hurried over to our table, tears already welling in her eyes.

“Mrs. Devereaux,” she choked out, as if she’d suffered some terrible grievance, “I know you don’t like me, but why would you have your friend humiliate me like this? I only wanted to do my part for charity.”

Chloe laughed out loud.

“Sorry. Manners are for respectable people. I’m not sure which category you fall into.”

“You!”

“Chloe, that’s enough.” I put a hand on her arm, then lightly wiped the corner of my mouth with my napkin. I didn’t spare Savannah-Claire another glance. “Let’s go. The air in here has soured.”

Chloe’s bar was on Charleston’s trendiest stretch of King Street. It was called Traitor’s Reward and specialized in rare bourbons.

Dim lighting, heavy leather sofas, and air thick with the scent of cedar and aged whiskey.

Leaning back on the sofa, I watched the bartender shake a cocktail and suddenly remembered a night long ago.

It had been our engagement party. A drunken banker kept insisting I dance with him, his hand sliding with casual indecency toward my waist.

Jackson had been only a few feet away. He saw it, and in an instant, he was there, seizing the man’s wrist with enough force to nearly shatter it.

“She’s wearing my ring,” he had said, his voice cold as ice. “If anyone dares touch her again, it won’t end with just a drink.”

Back then, looking at him, I had truly believed he would be my knight, my protector for life.

“What are you thinking about? Still thinking about that bastard?” Chloe handed me a glass. “If you can’t let him go, then go take him back. Change your dress, put on some lipstick. No man can resist Ava Devereaux when she decides to fight.”

“Take him back?” I laughed and accepted the glass. “No need. He can stay with someone who needs him more.”

I stood and raised my voice so our friends in the nearby booths could hear.

“Everyone, I have an announcement.”

The bar quieted around us. All eyes turned to me.

“In three days, I will be divorcing Jackson Devereaux.”

A collective gasp went through our circle.

I paused, then continued, “After that, I will be marrying someone else. When the paperwork is done, you all owe me a drink.”

“My God, Ava, are you serious?”

“Who’s the new guy? How did you keep this so quiet?”

“He is—”

Before I could finish, a shot girl in a tight miniskirt and fishnets approached our table with a tray of bourbon.

“Drinks for everyone.”

The voice was familiar.

Chloe looked up, her gaze locking onto the girl’s face like a searchlight.

“Well, if it isn’t Savannah-Claire.” She grabbed the girl’s arm, her tone dripping with malicious amusement. “What, Jackson’s money isn’t enough? You have to come here and sell shots?”

Our friends stood too, circling her, studying her like some rare animal at a zoo.

“So that’s her.”

“Dressed like that. How… professional.”

In the dim light, Savannah-Claire’s expression was unreadable. She ignored everyone’s taunts and just looked at me, or rather, at the collective wealth of our table.

“I heard that if I sell a full tray here, I can get a thousand-dollar tip. Is that right?”

Chloe lifted a brow, thoroughly provoked by her shameless, cash-only hustle.

She yanked a thick stack of cash from her crocodile handbag and slammed it onto the table. There had to be at least ten thousand dollars.

“That’s right.” A cruel smile curved Chloe’s mouth as she pointed to the twelve full shots of bourbon on the tray.

“Drink this entire tray, and that stack is yours.”