My CEO Husband Let Her Ruin Our Wedding Live Chapter 03

My CEO Husband Let Her Ruin Our Wedding Live Chapter 03

I changed into something clean and went straight to the office.

I stood outside Gareth Doyle’s door for a few seconds, took a breath, then pushed it open. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s handled,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Stellan covered the breach penalties.”

“Don’t let it happen again. Prep for tonight’s stream and fix your image. If your numbers tank, I’ll ship you overseas myself.”

I pressed my lips together, then said it anyway. “Send me overseas.”

He sat up. “You’re serious?”

The company had expanded abroad years ago. Long-term contracts, two decades at a time. Most streamers ran from it.

I used to want it. He didn’t.

“You’ve got an overseas division. I can go with you,” I’d said back then, still naive.

He stalled, then gave me the truth. “Lyse is here. She needs me.”

“Mirelle, I need you too. Don’t go. Please.”

So I stayed.

Funny how that worked. He cried once and kept me. Years later, he watched me cry and didn’t blink.

“You go, you’re VP of the West Division,” Gareth said, sliding the contract across the desk. “Sign if you’re sure.”

I signed without hesitation.

“Good,” he said with a grin. “You leave next week. Wrap your current work first.”

Back at my desk, I sorted products for the night’s stream while scrolling the feeds.

The narrative had flipped.

Someone dug up Lysette’s account. Every post, every hint, every little show of affection got dragged into the light.

[She knew he had a girlfriend for over a decade and still jumped in?]

[This is why you don’t do tight friend groups. She lives for the attention, breaks couples, drives other girls out. It’s gross.]

[Mirelle got wrecked.]

My followers flooded her comments, demanding an apology.

Before I could reach the bottom, Stellan’s call came through.

I picked up.

“Was this you?” he snapped. “Mirelle, did you send your fans after Lyse?”

I could hear her crying on his end.

“Yeah, she messed up yesterday, cost you some work, but I already paid for it. Why are you still going after her?”

I let him talk.

Listened as he minimized everything she’d done, shrank it down to nothing, wrapped it all in one excuse.

She didn’t mean it.

“She spread rumors about me,” I cut in. “She stirred up hate and had people show up in person.”

“In the chaos, someone hit me. My eardrum ruptured.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you worried.”

I paused. “Stellan, I still can’t hear out of my right ear.”

“Do you care?”

Silence.

Then, “That can’t be—”

“Lyse!” he barked. “You said it was nothing.”

She broke down harder. “I only joked in the comments… I didn’t know anyone would go after her…”

My head throbbed.

I hung up, muted my phone, and tossed it in the drawer.

Something sat heavy in my chest.

Not anger. Not even hurt.

Just a dull, familiar ache.

By evening, right before the stream, I turned my phone back on.

His messages filled the screen.

[Mirelle, just quit streaming.]

[I’ll take care of you. We’ll get married. I’ll put everything in your name. I’ll find the best doctors. We’ll fix your ear.]

Then the real ask.

[Lyse didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll make it right.]

[But can you clarify things first? Maybe apologize?]

[We need to stop the online harassment.]

I typed two words.

[Dream on.]