Abandoned Heiress: Married to My Brother-in-Law
Adela stood outside the private room, holding the obsidian necklace she had spent three months hand-crafting for her boyfriend.
But through the cracked door, she heard Juston laughing with his friends, calling her a stupid, obedient pawn and her art "garbage."
After she shattered the necklace and walked out into the freezing rain, Juston texted her a far more horrifying truth.
Her own family didn't just hate her-they had actively tried to kill her.
Two years ago, her brother Kayden intentionally slipped deadly shellfish into her food at a gala, sending her into anaphylactic shock.
Worse, her parents had covered up the attempted murder as a simple kitchen mistake, all to protect the family name and elevate her adopted sister, Kara.
Adela collapsed on the wet pavement, suffocating under the weight of the ultimate betrayal.
She had spent her entire life begging for their love, secretly working as the anonymous designer keeping their failing company afloat, only to realize she was nothing but a disposable tool.
She had absolutely no one, and nowhere to go.
Just as the storm threatened to swallow her whole, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
Harmon Holland, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire she was originally arranged to marry, stepped out into the rain.
He didn't offer her pity. Instead, he handed her a legal document.
"Marry me, Adela. For one year."
She took the pen. This time, she wouldn't be an obedient pawn; she would be their executioner.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 1
Adela Richmond never expected that Harmon Holland, who was still her brother-in-law yesterday, would now become her husband.
A day ago.
"So, you really aren't going to dump that boring Adela Richmond?"
The door to the Peacock Room was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light and sound escaping into the corridor. The words bled through the crack.
Adela's hand froze inches from the brass handle. The velvet jewelry box in her other hand suddenly felt like a block of lead. Inside rested an obsidian necklace. She had spent three months sourcing the stone, grinding and polishing every single link by hand for their one-year anniversary.
Her heart, which had been racing with sweet anticipation just a second ago, slammed against her ribs.
A lazy, familiar laugh echoed from the unlatched gap of the private room. It was Juston.
"Dump her? Why would I dump her?" Juston's voice dripped with a casual cruelty she had never heard before. "She's a Richmond. She's the perfect, obedient little pawn for a strategic marriage. She doesn't cause trouble."
The blood drained from Adela's face. The dim light of the Elysium club's hallway seemed to flicker, the marble floor tilting beneath her designer heels.
"But I heard the Richmonds actually care about the adopted girl, Kara," Brock, Juston's friend, pressed, his tone thick with amusement. "Kara is the real socialite. Adela is just... there."
"So what?" Juston scoffed. The clinking of a whiskey glass against a table punctuated his words. "Adela is stupid enough to be loyal. She's desperate for validation. She thinks I actually give a shit about those ugly little design projects she makes. I throw that garbage out the second she leaves my apartment."
Adela's stomach violently contracted. Acid burned the back of her throat.
She pressed her spine against the cold wall of the corridor. Her fingernails dug so hard into the leather of her purse that the seams groaned. The obsidian necklace. The sketches she stayed up until 3:00 AM perfecting for him. Garbage.
"Her only real value to me," Juston continued, his voice lowering into a vicious sneer, "is that keeping her pisses off Harmon Holland. We all know Adela was supposed to be Harmon's little arranged bride. Taking her from him is just good business."
The room erupted into a chorus of mocking laughter.
"I'll kick her to the curb when I get bored," Juston added over the noise. "She's got nothing but the Richmond last name anyway."
Adela couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt like they were packed with wet sand. Her knees shook, threatening to give out right there on the expensive carpet. Every sweet text, every kiss, every promise of a future-it was all a calculated, sterile transaction.
She closed her eyes. The stinging heat of tears threatened to spill over her lashes.
She forced them back.
She dug her nails deeper into her palms until the sharp sting of pain grounded her. The violent churning in her stomach hardened into a block of solid ice. The ringing in her ears stopped.
The color was gone from her cheeks, but her jaw locked into place. She didn't turn around. She didn't run away crying like the weak, boring girl they thought she was.
She stepped away from the wall. She reached out, her hand perfectly steady now, and gripped the brass handle.
She pushed the door open.
The heavy wood swung inward with a soft click. The raucous laughter inside the Peacock Room died instantly.
Juston was leaning back on a leather sofa, a cigar between his fingers, a smug grin plastered on his handsome face. Brock was sitting across from him, mid-laugh. Five other men froze, their eyes darting to the doorway.
Adela stood there. Her face was a mask of pale, terrifying calm. She looked at Juston not with heartbreak, but like she was staring at a stranger.
At the far end of the dimly lit corridor, hidden entirely in the shadows of a private alcove, a man slowly lowered his crystal tumbler.
His sharp, blue eyes locked onto the scene unfolding at the door.
"Sir," Donovan Tate, his assistant, murmured from the darkness. "That's Miss Richmond."
Harmon Holland didn't reply. He adjusted the silver cufflink at his wrist. A slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
You may also like
8.9
Sienna Jones only wanted a one week escape in Miami but woke up one morning legally married to a stranger who happens to be Eric Macmillan, a British Billionaire heir.
Before Sienna can process the disaster she accidentally signed up for, the internet has crowned her the mystery wife of a billionaire.
Now, stuck navigating lawyers, paparazzi, angry parents, and a marriage they never meant to happen, can Sienna and Eric keep things civil until they quietly annul it?
8.5
Elara spent three years invisible in her marriage to billionaire Damien Cross. When he hands her divorce papers, she disappears without a fight.
Six months later, an accident steals Damien's memory of the past five years. He doesn't remember his ex-wife, but he can't stop searching for the woman with sad eyes who haunts his dreams.
When he finds Elara thriving in Seattle, she refuses to let him back in. But this Damien is nothing like the cold husband she remembers, and as he uncovers their past, devastating secrets emerge.
Can you forgive someone who doesn't remember breaking you?
8.5
After five years in prison, Alexia longed for freedom and the family she thought awaited her-only to discover a deadly plot orchestrated by the sister they cherished.
In her final moments, she realized those years were a sacrifice made to protect a bunch of leeches.
Reborn, she abandoned all hope for family and reshaped herself in darkness, turning pain into power.
Quietly, she began her revenge, using a dangerous man as her pawn to execute every step flawlessly and crush those who betrayed her.
But as she played her game, he pulled her closer and warned, "Think you can use me and walk away? Not a chance."
9.8
When I woke up on the muddy bank of the freezing river, I unlocked a brutal, unfiltered preview of my actual future.
For the past six months, I had been the town's ultimate joke, chasing after a city boy who looked at me like a diseased insect. Everyone thought I jumped into the river because he rejected me.
But the nightmare didn't stop there. In the future I foresaw, my entire family was destroyed. My eldest brother was handcuffed and dragged into a squad car. My second brother died in a pool of blood on the asphalt. My parents passed away from sheer grief and humiliation, and our farm was foreclosed.
Meanwhile, Bart Hawkins—my family's sworn enemy, the boy everyone accused of pushing me, but who actually jumped in to save my life—became a billionaire tech mogul. I ended up starving to death in a damp, moldy basement, completely alone.
I finally understood that I was just a pathetic, tragic side character meant to drag my family into hell. My own sister-in-law, Felicie, had been stealing our food and money, laughing at my misery behind my back.
But right now, my mother was still alive, my brothers were safe, and the farm was ours.
When Felicie walked into my bedroom, playing the devoted sister-in-law with a bowl of clear, meatless broth while a stolen roasted chicken thigh leaked grease through her apron pocket, I didn't play along.
"What's in your pocket, Felicie?"
This time, I was going to tear that horrific future apart with my bare hands.
9.3
Adrian Blackwood , billionaire CEO of Blackwood Holdings, Alpha of the Blackwood Pack... Mated to a weak, broken and wolfless female?!! No way! This is impossible, this must a sick prank by the moon goddess and fate.
8.7
I woke up in a luxury penthouse with a blinding headache and bruises on my thighs, staring at the man who was about to ruin my life. Cullen Hunter, the most dangerous billionaire in Los Angeles, was stepping out of the shower, ready to discard me with a signed check and a cold look of disdain.
Then the memories hit me like a physical blow. I realized I had woken up in the "Death Flag" scene of a script—this was the exact morning Avery Hall was supposed to be kicked out, humiliated, and started her downward spiral into a tragic death.
The nightmare escalated within minutes. My own brother, Ernest, called to tell me I was no longer a member of the family, freezing my trust fund and evicting me from my apartment. He believed the lies of our "perfect" adopted sister, Cheslie, who had leaked her own private photos and framed me for it just to gain sympathy. Even my fiancé, Preston, couldn't wait to dump me in public, calling me a "crazy bitch" before running straight into Cheslie’s waiting arms.
I was suddenly homeless, bankrupt, and the most hated woman in the city. My family wanted me to crawl back and apologize on my knees for a crime I didn't commit, while the man I had just spent the night with watched my destruction with boredom.
I didn't understand how they could all turn on me so fast, or how I was expected to survive in a world where the script was literally written for my failure.
"Avery, don't make this difficult," Cullen warned, waiting for the tears he thought were coming.
But I refused to play the victim. I pulled three hundred dollars of my last bits of cash, slapped them onto Cullen’s nightstand, and told him the service was mediocre. I wasn't going to beg for love or mercy anymore; I was going to rewrite the ending of this story and become the most dangerous femme fatale Hollywood had ever seen.