After His First Love Woke Up

His first love woke up. Right in the middle of our engagement party. Leaving a hall full of elite guests and me standing there completely humiliated, he sprinted toward the hospital without a single backward glance. He tossed out just one sentence. "Hold the fort." I held it. I held it so well that exactly one week later, I walked straight into City Hall and married his absolute worst enemy. When he blocked my path at the bottom of the municipal steps, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded to know how I could be so heartless, the man beside me let out a low, dark chuckle. "President Sinclair. You might want to get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda." I looped my arm through my new husband's, smiling like the morning breeze. "Did you honestly think you were the only person in the world waiting for a first love? What a coincidence. The exact day you destroyed our engagement, the man I waited ten years for finally came back to me." 1 My engagement banquet with Tristan Sinclair was supposed to be the event of the season. Until the woman who had been in a coma for three entire years woke up. "Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately." His knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. Wild ecstasy flooded his eyes, masking a tiny, insignificant sliver of guilt. "You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back." He did not even wait for my response. Tossing those words like spare change, he shoved through the crowd and sprinted out of the ballroom. He trampled my dignity and the reputations of both our families right into the marble floor. Everyone assumed I would wait for him to return like a pathetic, loyal little dog. A full week later, he finally remembered I existed. But instead of tears, he was greeted by a brand new marriage certificate. Looking at the document in my hand, Tristan completely lost his mind. His custom tailored suit was wrinkled. His hair was an absolute mess, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He stared at the paper, his gaze burning with enough heat to set it on fire. "Linda! Did you marry my biggest rival just to get back at me?!" The man beside me took a slow, deliberate step forward. His tall, broad frame shielded me completely. His tone dripped with raw mockery. "President Sinclair, get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda." I tightened my grip on his arm, meeting Tristan's furious glare head-on. "Did you honestly think you were the only one desperately waiting for a first love? Too bad. The exact day you blew up our engagement, the man I waited ten years for happened to come back." People were constantly walking in and out of City Hall. Tristan's rising voice was drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. "Explain yourself! What do you mean, the man you waited ten years for? What about the five years we spent together!" I was sick to my stomach of being treated like a circus animal on display. Especially since I had just been played for the biggest fool in front of hundreds of socialites a week ago. Before I could even part my lips, Victor Cross blocked their view entirely. He stood half a head taller than Tristan, radiating an icy, suffocating pressure. "This is a private matter between my wife and me. Do not trouble yourself over it." Victor's voice was not loud, but every word stabbed into Tristan like an ice pick. "Your wife?" Tristan laughed like he had just heard the most absurd joke on earth. He tried to step around Victor to grab my wrist. "Linda, stop throwing a tantrum and come home with me! I know you are angry. You are mad that I left you at the banquet. I apologize. I will give you whatever compensation you want. Just do not joke around with your entire future!" His fingers never even grazed my skin. Victor snatched his wrist in midair. "Have some respect." Victor's voice dropped to a freezing temperature. "Linda is legally my wife. The law protects her now. If you try to touch her again, I do not mind having the police teach you some manners." Victor's grip was bone-crushing. Tristan's face instantly drained of color. "Do not get too arrogant, Victor! You know exactly what kind of dirty tricks you used to trick Linda into this! Do you really think you won?" Tristan struggled, his facial features twisting in blind rage. I peeked out from behind Victor's broad shoulders, calmly looking at the man I had loved for five years. What did I ever love about him? Was it his money? His handsome face? Or was it the fact that he only ever treated me like a beautiful, low-maintenance decoration? Bile rose in my throat. "No one tricked me. It was entirely my choice." I looked him dead in the eye. "Five years of feelings were wiped to absolute zero the second you turned your back on me for Lily. I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. We are walking separate paths now. Do not ever contact me again." "Wiped to zero? You say that so easily!" Tristan's eyes were terrifyingly red. "You cannot do this to me! Lily... she is just my responsibility!" "Responsibility?" A genuine, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was purely ridiculous. "So your so-called responsibility had to be paid for with our families' reputations, my personal dignity, and five years of my youth? Stop lying to yourself, Tristan. You love her. From the very beginning, it has always been her." What was I for the last five years? Just a convenient stand-in for Lily. A perfectly obedient tool to cure his boredom and pacify his elders while his true love was asleep. Now that the real owner of his heart was awake, the understudy was naturally expected to get off the stage. I was too exhausted to even voice those thoughts out loud. There was no point. "Linda..." "Please address me as Mrs. Cross." I cut him off, clinging tighter to Victor's arm. "My husband is waiting to take me home. Get out of the way." Victor naturally wrapped a strong arm around my waist, guiding me toward the black sedan parked by the curb. Tristan stood frozen in place, looking like a statue struck by lightning. I did not look back. Once inside the car, Victor handed me a bottle of warm water. "How are you holding up?" he asked softly. "Never better." I twisted the cap off, took a sip, and let out a long, heavy exhale. It felt like I was expelling five years of built-up toxicity, along with every ounce of humiliation from that banquet. The car merged smoothly into the traffic. The city streets blurred outside my window, but my mind uncontrollably dragged me back to seven days ago. The union of the Davis and Sinclair families. I was wearing a custom gown flown in from Paris. My arm was hooked through his, and I was soaking in the applause, genuinely believing I was the luckiest woman alive. Then his phone vibrated. I watched the color drain from his face, replaced by shock, then unhinged joy, and finally, a fleeting glance of guilt directed at me. My heart plummeted. He hung up and squeezed my hands, his voice trembling. "Linda, Lily... Lily is awake!" Lily. That name had been a poisoned thorn festering in my heart for five years. His childhood sweetheart. The woman sitting firmly at the apex of his heart. Three years ago, she got into a horrific car accident trying to save him and fell into a vegetative state. Tristan's world collapsed that day. I was the one who pulled him out of the dark. I foolishly believed time could dilute his pain. I thought my devotion would make him let go of the past. I thought his proposal meant he had finally fallen in love with me. It turned out I was just delusional. "Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately." He looked at me, begging with his eyes. I stared at him, then at the hundreds of guests behind us, then at the bright, expectant smiles on our parents' faces. My blood ran completely cold. "You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back." He did not even wait for my permission. Tossing my hand aside, he pushed through the sea of people and ran. The massive ballroom fell deathly silent. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me like spotlights. Pity. Sympathy. Malicious glee. I was standing in the center of the most glamorous stage in the world, wearing the most expensive dress, feeling utterly naked and foolish. My parents rushed the stage, their faces livid. Tristan's parents looked mortified and furious. I barely remember what happened next. I only remember taking off my torturous heels and walking down the stairs barefoot. I did not cry. I did not scream. I walked up to my parents and whispered, "Dad, Mom, let's go home." That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Still no tears. Just a numb, hollow emptiness. My phone screen kept lighting up. Dozens of missed calls from my best friend, Zoe. A flood of text messages. "Linda, are you okay? That absolute trash! I am so furious!" "Babe, please do not do anything stupid. He is not worth it!" I ignored them all. Around midnight, an unknown number called. Acting on pure instinct, I answered. "Is this Linda? It is Victor Cross." The deep, resonant voice on the other end of the line carried a strange, haunting familiarity. Victor Cross. Tech billionaire. Tristan's ultimate nemesis in the business world. And my deepest, ten-year-old secret. "What do you want?" My voice was terribly hoarse. "I am back," he said smoothly. "Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock at City Hall. Bring your ID. I will be waiting." I stopped breathing for a second. "What exactly are you saying?" A short pause followed. Then, his voice dropped, laced with a faint, warm amusement. "I am saying that if Tristan Sinclair does not know how to treasure you, I do." He hung up. I sat in the pitch-black room clutching my phone for a very long time. Eventually, I smiled. The next morning, ignoring my parents' shocked protests, I grabbed my documents and walked out the door. Which led to the scene on the municipal steps. "What are you thinking about?" Victor's voice pulled me back to the present. I turned to look at him. He was focused on the road, his jawline sharp and immaculate. "I was just wondering if rushing into a marriage with you was a bit too reckless," I joked lightly. He shot me a side-glance, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "It is too late to regret it now. Mrs. Cross, once you board my ship, you are never getting off." The car eventually glided into the underground garage of an ultra-luxury high-rise. I expected a man like Victor to live in a cold, sterile, monochromatic penthouse, much like Tristan's soulless mansions. But the moment the private elevator doors opened, I froze. There was no gaudy crystal chandelier. Just a soft, warm amber entry light. A pair of comfortable men's slippers sat neatly on the floor. Right next to them was a brand new pair of plush, pink bunny slippers. Exactly my size. My heart skipped a tiny beat. "Make yourself at home." Victor shrugged off his suit jacket, hung it up, and bent down to place the bunny slippers right at my feet. "Thank you." I slid my feet into them. The material was heavenly. I followed him into the living room. The space was enormous, but the interior design was surprisingly inviting. A light gray fabric sofa, warm oak floors, and large floor-to-ceiling windows lined with vibrant, thriving potted plants. The air smelled of sunlight and fresh coffee. It actually felt like a home. "What would you like to drink? Water, juice, or maybe... wine?" He opened the refrigerator and glanced back. "Just water, please." I sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa. We were legally married, but practically speaking, we were strangers. I knew he was a ruthless tycoon and Tristan's worst nightmare. Beyond that, nothing. He handed me a glass of warm water and took a seat in the armchair opposite mine. A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. A bride dumped at her engagement party, and a corporate rival swooping in to claim her. No matter how you looked at it, we seemed like a temporary alliance forged out of spite, not newlyweds. "Um..." I cleared my throat, taking the initiative. "Thank you for getting me out of that situation earlier today." "I was not just getting you out of a situation." His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and serious. "I was protecting my wife's dignity." My wife. The words rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if he had been calling me that for decades. My cheeks flared with heat. "But we..." "Linda," he interrupted gently. "Do you think my proposal today was just some sudden whim? Or that I only did it to humiliate Tristan?" I pressed my lips together, essentially agreeing. It sounded exactly like a cheap soap opera plot. Stealing the rival's humiliated ex-fiancée was the ultimate power move. Suddenly, he smiled. His smile was breathtaking. The usual cold, unapproachable aura melted away like snow under a spring sun. "What if I told you I have been waiting for this exact day for ten years? Would you believe me?" My breath caught in my throat. Ten years? The timeline was too specific. Too impossible. "I do not understand..." My voice was dry. "Ten years ago, in the back alley behind Oakridge High School, there was a girl. To protect the miserable kid who shared her desk from getting mugged, she grabbed a broken brick and scared off three older delinquents like a feral street cat." He spoke softly, as if narrating a distant fairytale. But an explosion went off inside my brain. The blurry memory instantly snapped into sharp focus. A sweltering summer afternoon. The deafening sound of cicadas. I was taking a shortcut through an alley on my way home from school. I saw the quiet, gloomy transfer student from my class backed into a corner by three vocational school dropouts. Rumor had it he was rich but neglected, making him an easy target. I had no idea where I got the liquid courage. Blood rushing to my head, I scooped up a jagged piece of brick and charged. "What are you doing! I already called the cops! They are five minutes away!" My voice must have been high-pitched and shaking. But the thugs were cowards. Startled by my kamikaze energy, they cursed and ran away. I helped the tall boy up. He kept his head down, his long bangs hiding his eyes. I asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked his name. He stayed silent. Annoyed by his lack of gratitude, I shoved the heavy brick right into his chest. "Keep this! If anyone tries to bully you again, smash their heads in! Do not be a coward!" Then I marched away like a victorious general. The transfer student vanished from school shortly after, and I eventually forgot the whole ordeal. I looked up, staring in utter disbelief at the man sitting across from me. Mature. Imposing. Powerful. I could not reconcile him with that skinny, silent teenage boy. "You... you are..." "Victor." His eyes crinkled, looking at me like I hung the moon. "I am that unlucky desk-mate you saved." My brain short-circuited. No screenwriter would dare write a script this absurd. "How... how did..." I babbled. "My father forced me to transfer out immediately. I never got the chance to say thank you, or even tell you my name," he explained quietly. "I was sent abroad right after. But I never forgot you." "You remembered the girl wielding a broken brick like a little gangster?" I blurted out. He laughed again, a rich, chest-deep sound. "Yes. I remembered. You were incredibly cute." Cute? What part of a screaming girl with a weapon was cute? "So you came back... just to..." "To marry you," he stated with absolute certainty. "But you do not even know me anymore! It has been a decade! What if I grew up to be a horrible person?" I still felt like I was walking on clouds. "I trust my judgment." His gaze turned heavy and piercing. "Besides, I have been keeping a very close eye on you. I know your likes and dislikes. I know you were with Tristan for five years, and the idiot never even realized you are deathly allergic to mangoes." My chest absorbed another heavy blow. Tristan really did not know. On one of our dates, he ordered a mango crepe cake and pushed it toward me. I simply smiled, said I was not craving sweets, and watched him eat the whole thing. I never corrected him because I did not want to be an inconvenience. I always thought loving someone meant being agreeable and accommodating. And yet, this "stranger" sitting in front of me knew. He knew me better than the man I had shared a bed with for five years. Was it ironic, or was it just incredibly lucky? "You investigated me?" I frowned slightly. "Not an investigation," he admitted freely. "As a business rival, looking into President Sinclair's personal life is standard procedure. I just accidentally ended up paying way too much attention to you." He made it sound effortless, but I knew "accidentally" did not cover the sheer amount of resources he must have spent keeping tabs on me from the shadows. "So the night of the banquet, you called me..." "I never intended to rush things like this." He sighed. "I wanted to court you properly. Formally. But Tristan forced my hand." His eyes darkened with dangerous intent. "When I saw the news breaking that he abandoned you at your own engagement party, I knew I could not wait another second." "Linda, I refuse to watch you suffer another grievance. Never again." Looking into those dark, resolute eyes, I suddenly realized that signing those marriage papers was not an act of impulsive revenge. It was fate. That night, I tossed and turned in the guest bedroom. Victor had insisted on giving me time to adjust, so he took the master suite. We were separated by a single wall. The proximity made my skin tingle. I pulled out my phone and opened Zoe's chat. Her messages were still sitting there, unread. Taking a deep breath, I typed: "Zoe, I got married." Less than three seconds later, my phone vibrated violently with her incoming call. "Holy shit! Linda! Are you out of your mind?! With who? Do not tell me it is actually Victor Cross!" I pulled the phone away from my ear. "Yeah. It is him." "Oh my god! You are insane! Do you even know him? Do you know what kind of ruthless predator he is? He is Tristan's arch-nemesis! He is definitely using you to humiliate the Sinclair family!" Zoe's panic was deafening. I understood her reaction. Any normal person would lose their mind hearing their best friend married her toxic ex's biggest enemy a week after getting dumped. "Zoe, calm down," I said patiently. "It is not what you think." I gave her the abridged version of the brick-wielding incident from ten years ago, and how Victor had been watching over me ever since. Dead silence fell over the line. A full minute later, Zoe finally spoke, her voice sounding completely detached from reality. "So... this is not a 'marrying the enemy for revenge' trashy drama. This is a 'ten years of secret pining finally comes true' epic romance?" "... You could interpret it that way." "Damn it!" Zoe cursed loudly. "This is better than a movie! So, how is he? Is he treating you right? Is he hot? How is the body?" The conversation was taking a very dangerous turn. "He is great. And he is... extremely handsome." Victor's face flashed in my mind, making my pulse race. "As for his body... I have not really looked." "Idiot! That is the most important part!" Zoe practically screamed. "Hurry up and find an excuse to inspect the goods! If the merchandise is faulty, demand an immediate refund!" My face flushed crimson. "Zoe!" "What are you blushing for? You are legally married!" I quickly hung up and buried my burning face into the pillows. Unfortunately, my traitorous brain instantly began imagining what Victor looked like underneath those tailored suits. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs... Stop it, Linda! Have some shame! Right at that moment, two soft knocks landed on the door. "Linda, are you asleep?" It was Victor. My heart vaulted into my throat. Did he hear me talking to Zoe? Were the walls that thin? "No... not yet." I scrambled to sit up, smoothing down my silk pajamas and clearing my throat. The door opened a crack, and Victor stepped in. He was out of his suit, dressed in dark gray loungewear. His hair was damp from the shower. The sharp, aggressive edge he carried during the day was gone, replaced by a devastating, domestic warmth. "I saw your light was still on. I figured you might have trouble sleeping in a new bed." He held a mug of warm milk. "Drink this. It helps." So that was it. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding, though a weird, tiny part of me felt disappointed. "Thank you." Our fingers brushed as I took the mug. His skin was incredibly warm. He did not leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, studying me. "What is on your mind?" "Nothing, just... it all feels a bit surreal," I mumbled, cradling the warm mug. "You will get used to it." His voice was like velvet. "From now on, this is your home." My home. Since childhood, my home was the massive Davis estate. Later, I thought my home would be the cold, modern penthouse I was supposed to share with Tristan. Now, this man was telling me that this apartment—a place I had just stepped foot in today—was my true home. My nose stung. "Victor," I looked up at him. "Do you... do you think I am too easy? We just..." "No." He cut me off, his gaze burning bright. "Linda, in my eyes, you deserve the absolute best this world has to offer. Tristan being blind is his own tragic loss. Getting to marry you is the greatest privilege of my life." How could he say things like that with a straight face? My cheeks were definitely hotter than the milk. "It is late. Get some rest." Noticing my embarrassment, he offered a gentle smile and quietly pulled the door shut behind him. The room returned to silence. I took tiny sips of the sweet milk, feeling a profound warmth spread from my stomach straight to my heart. He definitely did not hear Zoe's scandalous comments, right? Yeah. Definitely not. The next morning, I woke up to the mouthwatering smell of breakfast. Walking out of the bedroom in a daze, I found Victor in the open kitchen, wearing a... pink apron. He was expertly frying eggs. The morning light spilled through the windows, casting a golden halo around his broad shoulders. Hearing my footsteps, he turned around and gave me a crisp, bright smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Cross. Go wash up. Breakfast is almost ready." Sitting on the dining table were perfectly cooked sunny-side-up eggs, golden toast, warm milk, and a small bowl of fruit salad. My exact favorite breakfast combination. "How do you know my exact order?" I had to ask. "I told you. I have been paying attention." He slid a glass of milk toward me, sounding as casual as if he were discussing the weather. I felt a rush of complex emotions. Having a man quietly observe you for years, memorizing even your breakfast preferences—if I hated him, I would be terrified. But because it was Victor... I found it incredibly sweet. After eating, he began getting ready for work. "What are your plans for today?" he asked while tying his shoes. "I..." Reality came crashing down. I had a massive mess to clean up. I needed to face my parents regarding the canceled wedding, and more importantly, drop the bomb that I was already married. Just thinking about my parents' incoming wrath gave me a headache. "Do you want me to come with you?" He noticed my hesitation. "No, it is fine." I shook my head. "It is my mess. I need to handle it myself." I refused to act like a fragile flower that needed to hide behind him at the first sign of trouble. "Alright." He did not push it. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, obsidian black card and handed it to me. "The pin is your birthday. Buy whatever you want. Do not hold back." Here we go again with the overbearing billionaire tropes! And yet, my heart was racing. "I... I have my own money," I whispered, trying to refuse. "This is what a husband is supposed to provide." He pressed the heavy metal card into my palm, leaving no room for argument. "Be good. Take it." Before I could process it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then he turned and walked out the door. I stood frozen in the entryway for a solid ten minutes, clutching the card that still carried his body heat, my face burning up. Oh my god! He kissed me! Even if it was just the forehead! I took several deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Get it together, Linda! You are a married woman now! It was just a forehead kiss! Mentally preparing myself for battle, I dialed my mother's number. "Linda! Where are you? Are you okay? You terrified us!" Eleanor's frantic voice burst through the speaker. After the disaster at the banquet, I had locked myself away and then vanished the next morning. Of course they were terrified. "Mom, I am fine. I am perfectly fine." I tried to sound as normal as possible. "I am out right now... I have something important to tell you and Dad." "What is it? Where are you? We will come get you!" "No, it is okay. I will come home this afternoon to talk." I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were a little red, but my gaze was remarkably steady. It was time to face the music. That afternoon, I took a cab back to the Davis estate. Walking into the grand living room, I found both my parents sitting on the sofas, their expressions grim. Spread across the coffee table were today's newspapers. The headlines were universally vicious. Tristan Sinclair Abandons Bride at the Altar for Comatose Ex-Lover! Five-Year Romance Turns to Dust: Linda Davis Humiliated in High Society! "Linda, you are back!" My mother jumped up and rushed over, grabbing my arms to inspect me from head to toe. "Where have you been? You did not answer any calls! We were going out of our minds!" "I am fine, Mom." I patted her hands reassuringly. My father, Arthur, sat rigidly on the couch, his face dark with fury. I knew he was furious at me for disappearing, but mostly furious at the Sinclair family. "I will make the Sinclairs bleed for this," my father finally growled, his voice thick with wrath. "Do not worry, Linda. I will not let you suffer this indignity for nothing." Seeing them so fiercely protective of me warmed my heart and solidified my resolve. I reached into my designer bag, pulled out the crisp marriage certificate, and gently placed it on the coffee table. A suffocating silence descended upon the room. My mother's eyes widened. She looked at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, unable to form a single word. My father's face shifted from red to purple, then to a ghastly pale. He picked up the document with shaking hands and flipped it open. When his eyes landed on the name "Victor Cross", his hand spasmed, dropping the booklet onto the rug. "This is madness!" He slammed his hand against the glass table and shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Linda! What on earth are you doing! Did you use your own marriage as a tool just to spite Tristan? Do you know who Victor Cross is? He is Tristan's sworn enemy! You marrying him turns the Davis family into a circus act! How are people going to look at you?!" "Dad!" I met his furious gaze without taking a single step back. "I am not doing this out of spite, and this is not a joke. I am entirely sober and I know exactly what I am doing." "Sober? You call marrying a man you have met barely a handful of times in one week being sober?!" he roared, losing his usual aristocratic composure. "He is not just a man I met a few times." I took a deep breath and proceeded to lay out the entire truth. I told them about the incident from high school ten years ago, and how he had been waiting in the shadows ever since. I naturally omitted the part where Victor had "investigated" me, framing it instead as him quietly watching over me. When I finished, the living room plunged back into a prolonged silence. My mother's expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, to a faint glimmer of being deeply moved. My father slowly sank back onto the sofa, massaging his temples, lost in thought. After a very long time, he spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Even so, this is entirely too reckless. Marriage is not a game." "Dad, I am an adult." I looked at him with absolute sincerity. "I know what I want. For the past five years with Tristan, I lived like a puppet on a string. I always had to be the bigger person. Always understanding. Always stepping aside. But now, I want to live for myself." I paused, dropping the final, most crucial weight onto the scale. "Besides... he treats me incredibly well." My father stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I braced myself for another explosion of anger. Instead, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

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