The ceo's Revenge Bride

A drunken confusion

"You're really testing my patience! You're leaving this house next week!"

The old woman's voice cut through the tiny apartment like a knife, her wrinkled face twisted in frustration.

Claire swallowed hard, pressing her hands together to keep them from shaking. "Please, ma, I promise I'll pay."

"That's what you always say!" The woman huffed and stomped away, muttering under her breath.

Claire let out a slow breath. The room was small, dull, and barely livable, but it was the cheapest place she could find in London. And now, even that was slipping away.

She sat on her tiny bed, staring at the pile of clothes she had been trying to sell online. With a deep breath, she reached for her ring light, turned it on, and hit record.

"Hey guys, today I've got some beautiful pieces for you..."

Her own voice sounded hollow. Fake.

No one was buying.

Then her phone rang.

The screen flashed: Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted, but she answered.

"If you don't pay in two months, prepare to die."

The line went dead.

Claire's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers clenched around the phone.

The illegal lenders.

She had been so desperate, she borrowed from the wrong people. And now, they were coming for her.

A wave of nausea rolled over her. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had left home to prove she could survive without her father's money, without the family name.

She had believed in herself.

But now?

Now, she wasn't so sure.

Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them back. Crying wouldn't fix anything. She needed a plan. Something anything to get her out of this mess.

Her gaze landed on her nightstand, where a delicate gold necklace gleamed under the dim light. Her mother's gift.

Her last valuable possession.

Her chest ached, but she knew what she had to do.

She grabbed the necklace, threw on something decent, and rushed out.

Hours Later

Claire stepped off the train, gripping her bag tightly.

The money from the pawn shop wasn't much, but it would keep her afloat for now.

She exhaled, feeling the first hint of relief in days.

Then, a strange emptiness settled over her.

Her bag.

It was lighter.

Panic surged through her as she whipped it around and yanked it open.

The zipper had been sliced. The cash?

Gone. A thief.

Her throat closed up. No. No, no, no.

She felt lightheaded as she stumbled onto the pavement. The icy London air cut through her thin coat, but she barely noticed.

It was over.

Dragging herself home, she barely made it inside before collapsing onto her couch.

The weight of it all came crashing down, and this time, she couldn't stop the tears.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Then she felt it a small, crumpled envelope in her coat pocket.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled it out.

A few pounds.

Barely enough for a drink.

Claire let out a dry laugh.

Maybe she should just forget for a little while.

Yeah. Just for tonight.

She grabbed her coat and stepped out into the night.

The Bar

The burn of alcohol in her throat did nothing to numb the storm inside her.

Claire sat slumped over the counter, swirling the last drops of her drink.

Her vision blurred, the world spinning just a little too fast.

Then, she felt it.

Eyes on her.

She turned, squinting through the haze, and froze.

Gordon Wright.

He sat across the room, his sharp blue eyes locked onto her.

Her lips parted slightly.

She knew that face. That smirk.

Before she could fully process it, he stood, drink in hand, and made his way toward her.

Everything around her.qthe clinking of glasses, the dull hum of conversation faded.

"Hey, girl," Gordon said smoothly, voice low and rich with amusement.

Claire blinked up at him, her head tilting slightly.

"Oh boy," she mumbled, letting out a tipsy laugh.

Gordon smirked, sliding onto the stool next to her. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea." She downed another shot, slamming the glass onto the bar.

Gordon watched her closely. The Claire he remembered had been different.polished, confident, untouchable.

But this Claire?

She was wrecked.His smirk faded slightly. "And?"

Claire's chest rose and fell unevenly. The words spilled out before she could stop them.

"I'm about to be kicked out of my place... I... I have no money... and loan sharks... they said they'll kill me in two months."

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips, but it cracked halfway through.

Gordon stilled.

This wasn't just some spoiled rich girl playing broke.

This was real.

Before he could respond, Claire's head slumped forward onto her arms.

Passed out.

Gordon exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

What the hell am I supposed to do with you?

Leaving her here wasn't an option.

With a resigned sigh, he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest.

Gordon's Penthouse

By the time they reached his apartment, Claire stirred slightly.

Gordon helped her inside, carefully lowering her onto the bed.

And then

"Shit."

Warm liquid splattered across his expensive shirt.

Claire had thrown up.

On him.

Gordon grimaced, holding his arms out like his clothes were radioactive. He stared at her limp form, debating whether to just leave her there.

But then, her voice soft, barely a whisper.

"I borrowed money from dangerous people..."

Gordon's breath hitched.

"They said they'll kill me," she mumbled, her voice breaking. "My life is a mess..."

A long silence stretched between them.

Gordon should have felt satisfied.

This was his moment to gloat, to savor her downfall.

Instead, all he felt was... confused.

His gaze flickered to her fake gold chain, now slightly exposed beneath her blouse.

She had been someone important once.

So why was she here?

Was she disowned?

Gordon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

This wasn't the Claire he had expected.

And he had a feeling no matter how much he wanted to walk away he wouldn't be able to.

Not yet.