Chapter 002: Fucked like a whore

“Stop the noise,” I murmur, my voice thick with sleep.

“Stop being so loud.”

My words stutter in and out, heavy as my eyelids. But the noise doesn’t fade—it grows closer.

My eyes snap open.

A woman’s giggle drifts from the hallway, followed by clicking heels on the marble tiles.

My stomach twisted, the sounds got closer—too close

Before I can gather a thought, the door slams wide open.

Through my swollen eyes, I blink at the figures in the doorway.

Ryder.

Isla.

Both frozen, staring at me, their expressions sharp with one unspoken question—what the hell?

“Maya!!! What the fucking hell?

Before I start—who gave you the right to even be in my room?”

He storms toward me, eyes blazing with anger. “Tell me. Who gave you that right? Are we mates now?”

My throat tightens.

He yanks the duvet off me and tosses it aside like it’s filth.

Isla lets out a mocking laugh. I swallow the lump in my throat as Ryder’s gaze rakes over me. He shakes his head, the disappointment in his eyes was sharp and obvious.

“Look at you,” he spits. “Maya, I’m fucking sick of your existence.

Your whole existence disgusts me.” His finger jabs toward the bed. “And what the hell is that stain?”

Slowly, I turn. A hot wave of shame crashes over me.

Isla steps closer, her fucking heels clicking noise again.

She crouches, touches the stain, then brings her fingers to her nose. Another burst of laughter rips out of her, louder, crueler.

“Babe,” she chokes on her giggles, clutching her stomach, “it’s… it’s foundation.”

Her grin widens, merciless. “Sis, are you that insecure? Using makeup on your body?”

Ryder cuts in, “ what the hell are you even wearing? Maya, don’t you get tired of yourself? Don’t you get tired of humiliating yourself? Don’t you get tired of… existing? Isn’t it about time you just died?”

His words slice through me.

My eyes burn, but I force the tears back.

No. Not here. Not in front of her. Not in front of him. They can’t see me weak. They both can’t.

Before I could think.

Ryder grabs me by the wrist and yanks me off the bed. Pain jolts through me as I hit the ground.

Isla steps forward, arms folded, her smirk dripping with victory. “I told you not to marry her,” she says, tilting her head like she pities him. “You should’ve chosen me instead.”

He shrugs. “You know I didn’t have a choice. Granny made it clear—the marriage was for the family business.

“Argh, and just because of a family business, you’re stuck with this… uhm… corpse in lingerie.”

“Fuck.” Ryder grimaces, glaring down at me. “She makes me want to puke.”

He points to the bed. “Before I get back, I want whatever that is.. Gone”

I nod weakly.

And just like that, he turns his back on me. His hand slides around Isla’s waist, pulling her in. She giggles, leaning into him like she belongs there.

Then—he kisses her. Right there. Soft. On the lips.

Right in front of me.

They walk out together, the door swinging shut behind them.

Silence.

I sat on the floor, shaking.

Tears streamed down my eyes—the tears I had been holding back.

I patted myself. Don’t cry baby—Don’t.

Why does this always have to happen to me? Why me?

I looked down at my palms, trembling.

Gathering what little strength I had left, I forced myself to my feet. My whole body was still trembling as I walked to the mirror.

For a moment, I looked like a jump scare.

My mascara was smeared across my face, the lipstick I had carefully applied now smudged onto my cheeks.

That’s why. That’s why they look at me as a joke.

“I stayed up all night, waiting… just for him to come back and humiliate me,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

My heart ached so badly I couldn't even cry.

I turned away from the mirror and sank onto the bed.

The stain of foundation on the sheets.

“Shit… why am I so dumb? I fucking used a white bedspread.”

The humiliation of him hurting me when we were alone was already unbearable. But in front of her—my enemy, the one who orchestrated all of this—it felt like death.

In her head, she was the icon. The winner.

And me? I was the joker.

With the mess I had created, I really did look like the joker.

Just in the middle of my soliloquy,

my phone suddenly lit up.

It was beeping endlessly, almost shrieking, what the hell… why so many texts all at once?

I glanced at the screen and saw the time—11 a.m.

“Oh, oh, the Wi-Fi just connected properly,” I muttered under my breath.

So who the hell is even texting me now?

I dragged myself slowly to the desk and finally picked it up.

It was a Twitter notification, glowing bright on the screen.

My heart thundered hard against my ribcage.

I was tagged eighty-seven whole times in the comments of a post by Paper Lantern, the famous blogger.

I swallowed the heavy lump stuck in my throat.

What could this be about? Paper Lantern only posted about sports drama or the messy lives of popular celebrities.

So what’s happening now? I asked myself, my chest tightening.

My hands trembled as I tapped the notification.

It took me straight to the post.

A headline stared back at me, bold and merciless:

The Ice King Gets Cozy With His Cheerleader: Trouble in Paradise for Hockey Royalty?

Then came the pictures.

My husband. My sister. On a private beach.

She was in a bikini. Ryder was in nothing but shorts.

His hand was on her waist. The other… on her ass.

And they were kissing.

My head went blank. For a moment, I couldn’t even identify the emotion burning in my chest. Rage? Betrayal? Nausea? All of it at once.

The photos were everywhere. I kept scrolling—it was on Instagram too, trending.

I tapped on the notifications where I was tagged.

And it was way worse than I could have ever imagined.

“@Maya_0 must’ve seen it coming. You can’t marry a superstar and not expect competition.”

A reply to the comment:

“It’s not even a competition. @Maya_0 signed up for this. Everyone knows @Queen-Bee Isla had Ice King first, since high school . But the bitch swooped in and brainwashed Ice King’s granny into that flash marriage. Maya is such a gold digger.”

And another:

“I’m proud of @Queen-Bee Isla for taking back what’s rightfully hers.”

My heart froze.

What is all this? I whispered.

I kept scrolling, my stomach twisting.

“I heard @Maya_0 has a yeast infection. Which literally blocked fallopian tubes. That’s why she’s unable to conceive a child”

A reply under that comment :

“That’s very true, because if the bitch had her way, she’d have trapped Ice King with a child.”

What the fucking hell.

I toss my phone, expecting it to land on the bed, but it falls to the ground.

I don’t even care.

“What did I just read?” I mutter.

“What did I just read?” I muttered.

I went to pick my phone from the floor again; the screen was a little bit cracked.

I went to the IG post.

A picture of them on the red carpet—I spotted myself.

I zoomed into the background. I saw myself clearly. My facial expression said it all. The disgust on my face was clear, and somehow, they made that look pathetic too.

“Nah, nah, I’m not mentally prepared to read the comment section of these awful people.”

Tears slid down my cheeks, falling onto the screen.

I backed up against the door, then slid down to the floor, hugging my knees.

Minutes. Hours. Who knew?

I stood up, my whole body trembling.

I had been waiting for my husband throughout the night, just for him to be out with my sister—doing way more than they posted.

The fans from the red carpet were right when they said, ‘Isla and Ryder would be fucking tonight.’

I should have fucking listened to my instinct.

I looked at the lingerie. I slacked it, and when it contracted, it hit my skin hard. The pain—the pain couldn’t be compared to the pain my heart felt.

I shouldn’t have worn this shit. I muttered.

I walked up to the mirror.

It only made my whole situation worse.

“Shit… my eyes are so red.”

Why did I let a man turn me into this?

Even my perfect blonde hair is beginning to shrink.

Oh no … oh mo

I covered my face in shame.

Why do I love Ryder so much? Why? Why?

Why can’t I hate him the way he hates me? Why can’t I?

Maya, what are you so afraid of?

In the middle of my rage, the doorknob twisted.

My heart thundered. I turned around.

Ryder.

He stood there, looking at me. His eyes dropped to the floor, to the phone, then back at me.

A storm of words filled my head, but none would come out.

“Ryder… uhmm…” I whispered. He couldn’t even hear me. He could only see my lips moving.

He kicked my phone, sending it crashing against the wall.

My eyes widened. I shook, my whole body trembling.

He walked straight up to me, rage burning in his eyes. My heart thundered in my chest.

I shut my eyes. “Oh God, please help me. Oh God, please help me,” I whispered.

With fear, I forced them open again.

He stood right in front of me and gripped my hands—too tight, without mercy.

“You’re still wearing this shit,” he spat, his voice raised.

“The only reason I’m holding myself back from hitting you is because I’m not a legal citizen of this country,” he spat . His words dripped with venom.

“That’s the only thing saving you. I don’t want to get arrested. If not, do you think you’d be here? You’d have joined your mother in the grave— bitch.”

The words cut through me like a knife.

My heart stung.

His eyes scanned me, stopping at my thighs, then dragging up to my face. He shook his head with disgust.

“God. Don’t you ever get sick of making people want to puke when they’re around you? Don’t you?”

He leaned closer, his voice low and cruel.

“Don’t you ever get tired of existing?”

Then he let my arms go like it burnt.

“You still left that bed that way? In fact, I don’t want you touching the bed.”

“Please, just go. Just go before I do something that would land me in prison,” he sneered .

“Leave. Now.” He pointed his index finger towards the door.

I nodded. I walked slowly.

Inside me, my thoughts screamed: Didn’t he see that my eyes are red and swollen? He can’t even ask why I’ve been crying. He doesn’t even care.

I turned.

He was facing the mirror, unbuttoning his Oxford shirt.

My legs wobbled as I slowly walked in his direction.

When I got close enough, he saw me through the mirror. His gaze locked on me, his eyes still filled with anger.

Normally, that look would’ve scared me away. But this time, I gathered my courage.

I stood in front of him.

I raised my trembling hands to his cheekbone, placing both of them there, making sure I maintained eye contact.

“Ry… Ryder,” my voice cracked. “W-why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to deserve all this treatment you give me? Why?”

Something flickered in his eyes. But before I could grasp it, it disappeared—too fast.

He broke eye contact. He cleared his throat.

“Maya… don’t push me.”

“Ryder… I know you love me. What’s stopping you from showing it?”

He laughed to himself—cold, bitter.

Then he pushed me onto the bed.

Before I could even snap to see what was happening, he was already on top of me.

He ripped off his shirt aggressively.

“Slut. You want me to fuck you, right? You’ll have it.”

“No—Ryder, not this way, please.” I struggled beneath him, panic rising.

His hand struck across my face. My skin burned.

“Be quiet.”

He yanked at his belt.

“Ryder, please, don’t do this,” I begged, my voice trembling. “Please… I don’t want our first time to be this way.” My voice broke, splintering. “Pl…ease.”

He leaned closer, his lips pressing against my neck. His breath was heavy, suffocating. I could smell him.

He smells like… cigarettes and alcohol

He was drunk

With one violent tug, he ripped the G-string of my lingerie apart.

In a flash, he spat on my pussy and thrust his dick into me.