Ruined Gown, Billionaire Husband I’m Done Playing Nice

For an eightyear bet to secure my place at the altar, I spent eight years working as Julian Kingsley's free designer.

This eighth year, the silverwhite mermaid gown I had poured my heart and soul into was supposed to be my battle armor.

But Julian handed it over to his fragile, coldfearing childhood sweetheart without a second thought.

He even had the nerve to guilttrip me: "Vivian, you’ve always been the bigger person. It’s just a dress. Don't pick a fight with Chloe." The bigger person. What a joke.

I smiled, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and poured it over the milliondollar gown in front of everyone. "Since it's dirty, it might as well be ruined." While Julian stared in absolute fury, I threw my resignation in his face, turned around, and took the arm of the most dangerous man in the Upper East Side—Damian Thorne.

Everyone gasped. Julian waited, fully expecting that businessworld psycho to tear me to pieces.

He didn't know that very night, Damian would pin me against the wall, his dark eyes burning as he whispered: "Fifty million dollars to make you my wife?

Baby, I just made the deal of a lifetime." Later, when the Kingsley Group went bankrupt, Julian knelt outside my fashion show, begging me to come back.

I only gave him one sentence: "Late love is cheaper than dirt." In front of the vanity mirror. Julian zipped up the back of the haute couture gown.

The soft metallic click sounded like a thunderclap in the dead silence of the dressing room.

And I, Vivian Vance, the head designer of the Kingsley Group and Julian’s nominal fiancée, stood in the shadows like a total outsider. "Too tight?

I had them take the waist in by two inches.

Your waist is tiny, so this will really show off your curves." Julian’s voice was low, carrying the very tenderness I used to crave so desperately.

Too bad that tenderness was directed at the girl in the mirror. Chloe Sinclair. Julian’s precious childhood sweetheart.

She had just returned to the country, supposedly to recover from some chronic illness.

With her innocent, firstlove face, she was currently spinning in front of the mirror, wearing the silverwhite mermaid gown. That dress was my masterpiece.

I had spent three months, staying up until my eyes bled, overseeing every single stitch.

According to the bet I made with Julian's grandfather, Arthur Kingsley, eight years ago: I would design eight showstopping finale gowns for Julian’s annual galas.

If, during these eight years, he let me wear the finale gown and dance the opening waltz with him just once, I would win. My place as the future Mrs. Kingsley would be sealed.

But if the eight years passed and he never chose me, I would lose. I would have to walk away, hand over all my design copyrights, and leave the Kingsley family forever.

It was a secret known only to Arthur and me. Julian just thought I was trying to prove my talent. For the first seven years, he always had perfect, ironclad excuses.

Year one, the company went public, and they needed a Hollywood starlet to bring in media coverage. I swallowed my pride and spent the night holding the actress's train backstage.

Year four, the daughter of our biggest client wanted the dress. I put on a smile and personally helped her adjust the doublesided tape.

Year seven, he told me, "Vivian, you don't need this cheap vanity. Your talent is the best brand itself." I believed him back then. I thought I was special to him. A partner.

An equal. I thought we didn't need those silly formalities. But this year was the eighth year. There was no client, no movie star, no corporate strategy.

There was only Chloe, crying that she had nothing to wear, that she was cold, and that she was too shy to meet people. "Julian..." Chloe looked at herself in the mirror, her cheeks flushing.

Then, a look of pure panic washed over her face. Through the reflection, her eyes cautiously darted toward me in the corner. "Should I really wear this? Vivian... she looks so pale.

Will she be mad at me?" Julian, who was adjusting the silver tassels around her waist, paused slightly. He turned around, his gaze finally landing on me.

In that instant, the brief spark of admiration in his eyes vanished.

It was replaced by a familiar indifference, even a hint of impatient judgment. "Why would she be mad?" Julian said carelessly, patting Chloe’s shoulder to soothe her. "You’re a guest, and you just had surgery.

Your health is fragile, and you can't handle the cold. This fabric is thick. It’s perfect for you." Thick fabric? I almost laughed out loud.

To achieve the ultimate drape and sheen, I had used the most expensive heavy silk woven with metallic silver threads. Its value lay in its design and craftsmanship.

In his mouth, it was reduced to a piece of "warm clothing." "Besides," Julian retracted his gaze, his voice full of absolute certainty, "Vivian is always reasonable.

She cares about the big picture. She only cares if the design looks perfect, not who is wearing it. Right, Vivian?" Those words felt like a tight collar around my neck. Reasonable.

Mature. Understanding. For eight years, these words had been nailed into my kneecaps, keeping me on the ground, making sure I could never stand up or fight back.

I could only kneel and accept his arrangements. I took a deep breath, digging my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm.

I stepped out of the shadows, holding a luxurious velvet box in my hand.

To match this dress, I had personally flown to Italy to have an old artisan custommake a pair of crystal heels. "Julian."

I spoke. My voice was incredibly raspy, as if I had swallowed sand. Julian frowned. "Why aren't you changed yet? The banquet is starting soon.

Even though you don't need to go on stage, as the chief designer, you still need to be downstairs to represent the company." See? He didn't even want me on stage.

This eighth chance had ended before it even began. "The shoes on Chloe's feet... they don't really match, do they?" I ignored his rush. My eyes fell on Chloe’s wornout flat shoes.

As if she had been burned, Chloe pulled her feet back. Her eyes welled with tears instantly. "I'm so sorry, Vivian... Because of my health, I can't wear heels...

I know I don't deserve such a beautiful dress.

I'll take it off right now and give it back to you..." She reached for the zipper, her hands trembling violently, looking as if she had been deeply wronged. "Don't touch it!" Julian grabbed her hand, spinning around to glare at me. "Vivian, do you have to be so venomous?

Chloe just got back. She doesn't know how any of this works. Why do you have to pick on her?" I stood there, looking at the man I had loved for eight long years.

Suddenly, the face that used to haunt my dreams—the face I had pulled allnighters for, the face I had drunk myself into stomach bleeding for—felt completely foreign.

Even... repulsive. "I’m not picking on her." I looked at him calmly and lifted the velvet box. "I’m just saying, these shoes were custommade to go with this dress." Julian’s face softened slightly. "Then bring them over and let Chloe try them on.

Even if she can't wear them for long, she can at least take a photo." I looked at his outstretched hand, a cold mock creeping onto my lips. "But Julian, these are a US Size 7." "Chloe is a Size 5." "These shoes were molded exactly to my feet." The air froze.

Chloe bit her lip, a flash of panic crossing her eyes, but she quickly replaced it with a look of pure, innocent admiration. "Oh, Vivian, you prepared so well... It’s all my fault.

I took your spotlight. Everyone outside is saying this eighth gown is the symbol of the future Mrs. Kingsley.

Is it against the rules for me to wear it?" Julian let out a soft laugh, as if she had asked a very childish question. "What 'Mrs. Kingsley'?

That was just a joke my grandfather made years ago.

Only you girls take it seriously." He adjusted Chloe’s dress, speaking casually: "In my heart, whoever I cherish is the real lady of the house." "As for Vivian..." He paused, his tone carrying a trace of annoyance. "She’s too strongheaded.

She's like a work machine. She doesn't have half of your sweetness." The velvet box slipped from my fingers without warning. Thud. It hit the marble floor hard.

The box popped open, and the diamondencrusted crystal heels rolled out. One of the heels struck the sharp corner of the table and snapped instantly.

The two people in the room spun around. Seeing the mess on the floor, a flash of shock crossed Julian’s face, which quickly turned into pure irritation. "Vivian!

What the hell is wrong with you?" He marched over, looking at the broken heel. He didn't ask if I was okay.

Instead, he scowled and yelled: "Even if Chloe can't wear them, these are still company property! How could you be so careless?

I was going to have you alter them for Chloe as a backup. Now look at this. How cursed is this?" Cursed. My hard work. My love. My eight years.

In his eyes, it was all just "cursed." I looked at him and suddenly laughed.

I laughed so hard tears almost came out, but I forced them back down. "Julian." "These shoes were never for her." "And this dress was never for her either." "This is my work, and it was my... very last chance for myself." Julian seemed taken aback by the look in my eyes.

The familiar adoration and obedience were gone, replaced by a freezing, dead silence.

Slightly irritated, he tried to grab my hand, softening his tone like he was coaxing a throwingatantrum child. "Stop acting up, okay?

I know you’re upset, but think of the bigger picture." "Chloe's health is bad. Can't you just let her have this once? It’s just for one night." "It’s just a dress.

Next year, I promise. Next year I’ll let you wear the finale gown. The entire spotlight will be on you, alright?"

Next year. Always next year. How many eightyear periods does a person have to waste waiting for a promise that will never be kept? Arthur’s bet was only for eight years.

And my youth only lasted those eight years, too. "There is no next year." I stepped aside, dodging his hand. My movement was so sharp that he grabbed empty air.

Julian’s hand froze, and his face darkened instantly. "Vivian, don't push it! I’ve already lowered myself to apologize.

What more do you want?" "I don't want anything." I walked past him, heading straight toward Chloe, who was standing there looking innocent but holding a smug look in her eyes.

Seeing me approach, she shrunk back. "Vivian... don't be mad. I’ll take it off.

I’ll take it off right now..." "No need." I stood in front of her, staring at the pristine white fabric. It was so beautiful.

Just like my heart when I first fell in love with Julian—clean, pure, untouched by dirt.

But now, it was filthy. "Since this dress is dirty, worn by someone who shouldn't touch it, it might as well be ruined." My voice was very soft, barely a whisper.

Before either of them could react, I grabbed a bottle of unopened red wine from the decorative champagne tower near the door.

The bottle was freezing, pressing painfully into my palm. "Vivian! Don't you dare!" Julian roared, realizing what I was about to do. Too late. Pop!

Splash— The cork was forced open, and the dark red liquid arched through the air in a dramatic, decisive wave. Precise, ruthless, without a single shred of hesitation.

The entire bottle of red wine poured over the multimilliondollar silver gown.

The red wine stained the white silk instantly, spreading along the threads like bleeding roses blooming in the snow. It was shocking, wild, and tragic. "Ah!

My dress!" Chloe screamed, grabbing the skirt in panic. But the wine had already soaked through. The onceethereal gown was now a complete, ruined mess. "Vivian!

Are you insane?!" Julian was livid, his eyes bloodshot. He rushed forward, shoved me aside, and hurriedly wrapped his own suit jacket around the shivering Chloe.

When he turned back to me, his hand flew up, carrying the force of a hurricane, aiming right for my face. "How did you become so malicious?!" The wind from his hand stung my cheek before it even hit.

I didn't dodge. If this slap landed, it would completely sever the very last thread of gratitude I owed the Kingsley family. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow.

But the expected pain never came. Instead, a dull thud echoed in my ears—the sound of bone colliding with bone. I opened my eyes.

A long, powerful hand had reached out from behind me. With sharp knuckles and a black luxury watch around his wrist, the hand locked around Julian's wrist like a steel vice.

Then, a deep, raspy voice—carrying a lazy chuckle but sending chills down everyone's spine—echoed through the hallway: "Mr. Kingsley, hitting a woman in public?

Is this the famous Kingsley family manners?" I turned my head and locked eyes with a pair of bottomless dark eyes. When I realized who it was, my heart skipped a beat.

Damian Thorne. The head of the Thorne Empire, the notorious "mad dog" of the investment world. Rumor had it he was ruthless and completely unpredictable.

Three years ago, he had returned to the Thorne family alone and completely crushed his illegitimate uncles and cousins.

He was the Kingsley Group’s biggest rival in the market, and the one man Julian feared the most. "Damian Thorne?

This is none of your business!" Julian’s face turned green when he recognized him. He struggled to pull his hand back. But Damian’s grip was terrifyingly strong.

He didn't budge an inch, keeping a playful smirk on his face while his eyes remained locked on me.

His gaze was intense, carrying curiosity, amusement, and something else... a strange, burning heat? "It wasn't my business," Damian said, casually letting go.

Julian stumbled back half a step, looking completely disheveled.

Damian adjusted his spotless cuffs, speaking in a relaxed tone, "But the way this lady poured that wine just now was beautiful. The angle, the force... it was pure art.

I’m a man who appreciates talent. I couldn't help but want to applaud."

Julian was choking on his own anger.

Chloe was sobbing like a victim now, wrapping Julian’s jacket tight around her as she trembled behind him like a frightened rabbit. "Julian... look at Vivian... she must hate me so much...

It’s all my fault. I shouldn't have worn this dress..." Julian’s protective instincts flared to the max.

He glared at me as if I were some heinous criminal. "Vivian, look at what you’ve done! Chloe’s health is already fragile.

What if you trigger her condition?" "Apologize to Chloe right now! On your knees!" "Otherwise, don't even think about keeping your position as head designer!

You can pack your bags and get out of the Kingsley estate tonight!" Threatening me? Always the same old trick.

If this were the past, for the sake of that bet and to stay by his side, I might have swallowed the humiliation and apologized. But now, my tower had crumbled.

Over the ruins, nothing remained. I had absolutely nothing left to fear. I smiled. For the first time in eight years, I felt incredibly light.

I slowly opened my clutch and pulled out a document I had prepared long ago.

It was my resignation letter, a contract termination agreement I had drafted six months ago but could never bring myself to use. "You don't have to kick me out." I took a step forward and slapped the papers directly onto Julian’s face.

The sharp edge of the paper cut his cheek, leaving a faint red scratch.

This was probably the most violent thing I had ever done to him. "Julian, we’re done." "This garbage job, and a piece of trash like you—I don't want any of it anymore." "As for the head designer position..." I let out a cold laugh, my eyes scanning the ruined dress. "Without me, what is the Kingsley design department anyway?

Since you love this crying brat so much, let her draw your sketches!" Without waiting for Julian’s shocked expression or the gasps of the arriving guests, I turned around.

I looked at Damian, who had been enjoying the show. I remembered my late grandfather telling me that the Thorne kid, though crazy, always kept his word.

Moreover, the Thorne family had been looking for an opportunity to break into the fashion industry to crush the Kingsleys, but they lacked a toptier designer to lead the way.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I took a deep breath, meeting Damian’s piercing eyes, and walked right up to him. My heels clicked against the marble floor.

Every step was a goodbye to my past self. "Mr. Thorne." I looked up, staring straight into his eyes.

My voice was clear and loud enough to echo through the hallway. "I heard you’ve been looking for a creative director to lead your brand, Lumina." "I wonder... do you think Vivian Vance is qualified?" The entire hallway went dead silent.

The reporters who had rushed over forgot to press their camera shutters. This wasn't just a breakup. This was a declaration of war!

Leaking to the rival company right in front of her ex? And demanding to be the head of the brand? This was dragging Julian’s face through the mud and stomping on it!

Julian finally snapped out of it, laughing in sheer anger. He pointed at me and yelled, "Vivian, are you insane? Do you think Mr. Thorne runs a dumpster?

Do you think the Thornes want a woman the Kingsleys threw away? A woman I’m already tired of—" "I’d be absolutely delighted." A deep, commanding voice cut Julian’s roar short.

The smirk on Damian’s face widened. His lazy posture straightened, and his eyes became incredibly intense. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with mine.

At this distance, I could smell the faint scent of cedarwood mixed with expensive tobacco, dominating my senses. "Having the great Vivian Vance grace my little company is my absolute honor." He reached out.

Instead of taking my hand, his fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

The gesture was intimate enough to make everyone in the room gasp. "But, Vivian, I have one condition." My chest tightened, my palms sweating. "What condition?" If it was a harsh business clause, I would take it.

As long as I could ruin Julian and get my pride back. Seeing my tension, Damian suddenly let out a low rumble of laughter.

His voice was so quiet only the two of us could hear. "Since you’re done with the Kingsleys, that makes you single, right?" "How about becoming Mrs.

Thorne?" "After all, I need a wife to get those old geezers in my family off my back, and you need a shield to slap your ex’s face. We’re a perfect match."

Damian’s eyes were slightly narrowed. There was no hint of joking in them; they were like a deep, dark pool waiting for its prey to jump in.

If this had been thirty minutes ago, I would have thought this man was completely insane or just playing with me. But now, I was Vivian Vance, reborn from the ashes.

Since Julian had personally destroyed my life, I had nothing left to lose.

Instead of dragging myself through the mud with them, I might as well ride this hurricane and burn down their entire hypocritical world. "Damian." My voice sounded terrifyingly calm, though it carried a slight tremble of a highstakes gamble. "I don't want a fake title.

I want real power. I want full control over all of Thorne’s fashion resources.

I want veto power for Lumina." I paused, looking directly into his sharp gaze. "And, I want Julian to regret every single choice he made tonight.

If you can give me that, forget being Mrs. Thorne—you can have my life." Damian laughed.

It wasn't the lazy smirk from before, but a deep, genuinely amused laugh rumbling from his chest.

It was a predatory, dominant laugh, full of appreciation for a wild animal showing its claws. "Why would I want your life?" He reached out, his long fingers slowly fixing my messy hair.

His rough thumb brushed against my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. "What I want is to see this wild cat show her claws and scratch people's faces off." "As for the rest..." He took half a step back, bending his elbow in a polite, aristocratic gesture, though his words were wildly arrogant: "As long as you dare to ask, I will hand you the entire city on a silver platter." I took a deep breath and slid my hand through his arm without hesitation.

Since the choice was made, there was no going back. From this moment on, I was Vivian Vance, and I was the sharpest blade in Damian Thorne’s hand. "Let’s go, Mrs.

Thorne," Damian whispered in my ear. "Your dress might be dirty right now, but I promise you, you’ll still be the brightest star tonight. And that ruined piece of trash over there?

I’ll make sure it becomes Julian’s biggest nightmare." The grand doors of the banquet hall were right ahead.

Behind those heavy mahogany doors lay the highsociety playground where Julian and Chloe were put on their pathetic little show. But I wasn't afraid anymore.

Because I knew that when those doors opened, I wouldn't be standing alone. Inside the hall, the atmosphere was peaceful. Julian had changed into a backup suit.

With a polite smile and a glass of champagne in hand, he was surrounded by a crowd of asskissing elites.

Next to him, Chloe was wearing a simple dress Julian had borrowed from somewhere.

She was doing what she did best—looking like a fragile, terrified little flower, drawing the protective instincts of every man in the room. "Mr. Kingsley is such a gentleman.

This Miss Sinclair is truly elegant." "I heard the great Vivian Vance was coming tonight? Where is she?" someone asked curiously.

Julian’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before he smoothly dismissed it: "Vivian... she’s not feeling well. She’s resting in the VIP lounge.

You know how designers are—highly artistic, a bit temperamental.

She doesn't really like these crowded social events." "On the other hand, Chloe just got back and was a bit overwhelmed. Please look after her, everyone." Temperamental.

Look after her. I heard every single word from outside the door, a cold smirk forming on my lips.

So, in his mouth, my eight years of blood, sweat, and tears were reduced to "temperamental," while the girl who only knew how to cry behind him was a treasure to be protected.

Boom— The heavy doors of the banquet hall were thrown open. The loud bang silenced the entire room. Every single eye snapped to the entrance.

The bright crystal chandeliers cast their glowing light down. I walked in, holding Damian’s arm, my chin held high.

There was no glamorous gown, no touchedup makeup, and the ugly red wine stains were still splattered across my dress. But the man beside me was Damian Thorne.

The "mad dog" of the business world, the one man even Julian's grandfather had to treat with absolute respect.

His presence was so powerful it completely dominated the room, forcing everyone to overlook my ruined dress and only focus on the immense... honor of me standing by his side. "Is that...

Damian Thorne?!" "Oh my god, what is he doing here? I thought the Thornes never attended fashion galas." "Wait, who is the woman next to him? She looks like... Vivian Vance?"

Whispers spread through the room like a tidal wave. Julian’s smile completely froze.

Seeing me holding Damian’s arm so closely, his pupils dilated, and he almost shattered the champagne glass in his hand. "Mr.

Thorne, what an... unexpected surprise," Julian forced himself to walk over, his eyes locked onto my hand on Damian’s arm, his gaze dripping with venom. "And Vivian, what are you doing with Mr.

Thorne? Didn't I tell you to reflect on your behavior in the lounge?" Reflect? He really thought he was my master, capable of judging me whenever he pleased.

Damian stopped, looking down at Julian as if he were an insect. He didn't even look at Julian’s outstretched hand.

Instead, he snapped his fingers at his assistant. "Turn the lights up." Damian ordered calmly, "Can't you see my fiancée’s dress is dirty? Mr. Kingsley’s eyesight seems poor.

He probably can't see the masterpiece on her gown." Fiancée? The moment those words left his mouth, the crowd erupted.

Everyone gasped, looking back and forth between Julian and Damian, their eyes filled with scandalous excitement. Who didn't know Vivian Vance was Julian Kingsley's fiancée?

And now, the head of the Thorne empire was publicly claiming her as his? This was a direct, public theft of a woman, and a massive slap to the Kingsley family's face!

Julian’s face turned the color of raw liver.

As a man and the heir of the Kingsley family, the sheer humiliation of being "cuckolded" in public made him lose all control. "Damian Thorne!

What is the meaning of this?!" Julian roared. "Vivian is my fiancée! The whole city knows it!

Are you trying to start a war with the Kingsleys?" "You said it yourself—'the whole city knows.' Too bad some people don't know how to appreciate what they have." Damian casually adjusted his cuffs, his tone lazy but sharp as a knife: "Mr.

Kingsley, I heard tonight was the final night of your eightyear bet with Vivian?

Since you gave her finale gown to someone else and dragged her hard work through the mud, can I assume you’ve officially forfeited?" "Since you forfeited, she is a free agent." Damian suddenly wrapped a possessive arm around my waist, pulling me tightly against him.

Facing the entire room of guests, his voice turned icecold: "Since Mr.

Kingsley is blind enough to mistake a diamond for a piece of glass, I’ll gladly take this diamond and set it on my crown." "Starting today, Vivian Vance is officially the Chief Director of Thorne’s Lumina." "Furthermore," he looked down at me, his eyes carrying a deep, unreadable warmth, "she is also my future wife.

Anyone who crosses her crosses Damian Thorne." After a dead silence, the room exploded into a frenzy. Camera flashes went wild, and the sound of shutters filled the air.

This was the biggest scandal of the year!

Julian Kingsley, for the sake of a childhood sweetheart, lost his toptier designer and fiancée, only to have his biggest rival steal her away right in front of him!

This was absolute destruction! Julian was shaking with rage, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Vivian! You’re unbelievable!

To get back at me, you actually slept your way to Damian Thorne? Have you no shame?" "Have you forgotten who took you in from the foster system? It was the Kingsleys!

You are an ungrateful snake!" The mention of foster care pierced my heart. That was my weak spot, the moral chains the Kingsleys had used to bind me for years.

But before I could speak, a fragile voice cut in. "Vivian..." Chloe had pushed her way to the front, her eyes swimming with tears. "Don't do this...

I know you’re mad at me for ruining your dress, but you don't have to use Mr. Thorne to hurt Julian... A woman’s reputation is so important. Running around with Mr.

Thorne like this... how will you ever face society?" What a masterclass in manipulation.

Every single word painted me as a loose woman who had sold her body to Damian just to spite Julian.

Looking at her fake face, I suddenly realized how blind I had been to ever cry over these people. "Chloe Sinclair." I spoke coldly, my voice not loud but sharp enough for everyone to hear. "That dress wasn't ruined by accident.

I poured the wine myself." "Because you don't deserve to wear it."