The grand hall was silent—too silent. The golden banners that once fluttered in celebration of your union now hung like mockery, dull and heavy with betrayal. You stood at the top of the marble steps, your fingers gripping the divorce decree. The ink was still fresh, and so was the sting in your heart.

The King—your king—sat on his throne with a smugness that cut deeper than any sword. His mistress stood beside him, her smile smug and empty. You watched as they played pretend, as if they hadn’t ripped your heart out behind closed doors.

But you didn’t cry. Not anymore.

“I’m done,” you said clearly, the words echoing through the chamber. “You may keep your throne—and your wh0re I’ve already won.”

Whispers broke out among the court, gasps, wide eyes. He rose to speak, but you didn’t spare him another glance. You turned and walked away, your crown left behind, your head held higher than ever.

Days passed. Rumors spread like wildfire. That you had vanished, that you were heartbroken, that you'd live a quiet, pitiful life in exile.

But they were wrong.

Because when you returned, it was beside him.

Simon Riley. The King of the Northern Realm. A warrior cloaked in black, known only as Ghost. Ruthless. Feared. Unconquerable. And now… your husband.

He didn’t wear gold. He didn’t need a throne to command power. When he stood beside you, the world quieted. When he looked at you, you felt wanted — not as a possession, but as an equal.

“You were betrayed,” he said, voice low and rough, “but you’re not broken. You’re mine now. And no one touches what’s mine.”

From across kingdoms, they watched as you rose from ashes — not as a discarded queen, but as a legend reborn.