Married To My Toxic Ex-Boyfriend's Brother
Eleanore thought her fiancé, Johan, was her only salvation after her family went bankrupt.
But at a high-society gala, he handed her a drugged glass of water. As the unnatural heat burned through her veins, the horrific truth hit her. Johan had isolated her and controlled her finances, all while secretly getting engaged to a wealthy heiress. He drugged Eleanore to ruin her completely, planning to lock her away as his helpless, secret mistress.
Desperate and losing her mind to the drug, Eleanore fled down the hallway. With Johan and his bodyguards hunting her, she stumbled into the dark presidential suite.
But she wasn't alone. Sitting on the leather sofa was Alexander Briggs—the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street, and Johan's exiled brother.
Outside the door, Johan was screaming, ready to drag her back to hell.
"I can be your antidote. But it's going to cost you."
The ruthless billionaire looked at her trembling body with cold calculation. He offered her a staggering deal: a three-month fake marriage to destroy Johan's empire, and in return, absolute protection and her father's massive debts paid in full.
She couldn't understand why the most powerful predator in New York would use a ruined girl as his weapon, but she knew she would rather die than let Johan touch her again.
When Johan finally broke down the door to claim his prey, Alexander calmly pulled Eleanore into his arms.
"Watch your mouth. You are speaking to my future wife."
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Chapter 2
The word "wife" hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Johan's face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Alexander. "You're out of your mind, Briggs! She's mine! Nobody in New York touches what belongs to the Conway family!"
Eleanore lay on the sofa, clutching Alexander's cedar-scented jacket to her chest. The shock of his declaration acted like a bucket of ice water, momentarily cutting through the drug's haze. She stared at the sharp, unforgiving line of Alexander's jaw, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Alexander let out a dry, humorless laugh. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once and shoved it directly into Johan's face.
"Is that right?" Alexander asked, his tone dripping with lethal mockery.
Johan's eyes dropped to the screen. All the color instantly drained from his face.
It was a high-definition photograph. Johan, standing on the deck of a private yacht, slipping a massive diamond ring onto the finger of Karlie Christensen. The timestamp in the corner read three days ago.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of socialites gathered at the door. The whispers instantly turned into sharp, biting gossip.
Johan's mouth opened and closed. He looked at Eleanore, panic replacing the rage in his eyes. "Eleanore, wait. It's not what it looks like. It's just business. A merger-"
A wave of intense nausea hit Eleanore. It wasn't the drug. It was the sudden, sickening realization of how thoroughly she had been manipulated. Johan had kept her isolated, controlled her finances, and played the devoted lover, all while planning to marry someone else for power.
She gripped the armrest of the sofa and forced herself to stand. Her legs shook violently.
The moment she swayed, Alexander's arm wrapped around her waist like a steel band, pulling her firmly against his side. He didn't look at her, but his grip was unyielding.
A dizzying wave of the drug pulled at her brain, making her vision swim. She dug her fingernails into her own bruised palms, using the biting pain to force her mind into a single line of clarity. Eleanore took a deep, ragged breath. She looked Johan dead in the eye.
"We are done," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but it didn't shake. "Don't ever come near me again."
Johan's eyes widened in disbelief. The idea of losing his grip on her snapped whatever sanity he had left. He lunged at her again, his hands clawing toward her face.
L. Thorne grabbed Johan by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the expensive wallpaper.
"Get your hands off me!" Johan thrashed against the wall.
The crowd parted suddenly. The sharp, rapid clicking of stiletto heels echoed on the hardwood floor.
Karlie Christensen pushed her way to the front. She wore a custom silk gown, her makeup flawless, but her eyes were wild as she took in the scene: her fiancé pinned to the wall, and Eleanore tucked safely under the arm of the most feared man on Wall Street.
Karlie forced a tight, plastic smile onto her face. She looked at Eleanore, her eyes filled with venom.
"Really, Eleanore?" Karlie's voice was high and mocking. "Throwing yourself at other men because your family went bankrupt? Have some dignity."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Alexander slowly turned his head to look at Karlie. His eyes were flat, dead, and utterly terrifying.
"Dignity," Alexander repeated softly. "Like the dignity of the Christensen family begging the Conways for a cash injection because your real estate portfolio is ninety days away from default?"
Karlie's smile vanished. Her jaw dropped.
The Wall Street investors in the crowd immediately pulled out their phones, their eyes darting toward Karlie with predatory interest. Alexander had just publicly executed her family's credit rating.
Alexander didn't waste another second on them. He looked down at Eleanore. The coldness in his eyes vanished, replaced by something dark and intense.
"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
Eleanore shook her head. The adrenaline was fading, and the drug was pulling her back down.
Alexander didn't hesitate. He scooped her up into his arms again.
L. Thorne shoved Johan aside and cleared a path through the doorway. Alexander walked out of the suite, carrying Eleanore against his chest. The crowd of elites parted instantly, pressing themselves against the walls to avoid his path.
Eleanore buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could hear the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat. It was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.
They reached the VIP elevator. L. Thorne swiped a keycard and pressed the button for the underground garage.
The stainless steel doors slid shut, cutting off the noise of the hotel. Eleanore looked at their reflection in the polished metal.
"Why?" she whispered, her heavy eyelids drooping. "Why did you do that?"
Alexander looked down at her. He didn't answer. He just tightened his arms around her.
The elevator chimed, opening into the dark, concrete expanse of the parking garage. A black, armored Maybach was already idling near the exit.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light exploded from behind a concrete pillar. Then another.
Paparazzi.
Eleanore flinched, trying to hide her face.
Alexander didn't speed up. He didn't order Thorne to take their cameras. Instead, he stopped walking. He turned his body slightly, ensuring the cameras had a clear view of his profile, and pressed his lips firmly against Eleanore's forehead.
The cameras clicked frantically.
Thorne opened the rear door of the Maybach. Alexander carefully placed Eleanore onto the plush leather seat, then slid in beside her.
The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them in the dark.
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7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."
7.0
I was the Stanton family heiress, engaged to the President's son to secure a vital military alliance.
But he cornered me in the White House sitting room, slamming a thick manila folder onto the marble table.
"I said, sign the annulment agreement, Hester."
He looked at me like I was dirt, demanding I step aside so he could be with a manipulative intern named Tricia.
In my past life, I was a naive lamb. I cried and begged him not to end it. My devotion was rewarded with absolute cruelty. He ordered my bones broken and my reputation completely shredded. My trusted assistant forced poison down my throat, and I was left to die with a rope burning my neck.
Until my last breath, I didn't understand. I had done everything perfectly for the family. Why did my unwavering loyalty only bring me a gruesome death? Why did the monsters who tortured me get to live happily in the highest seats of power?
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating terror of the noose suddenly washed away. I was sixteen again, staring at the exact same annulment papers.
"Hester, please. Just let us be happy," Tricia whimpered, reaching out her trembling hand.
This time, I didn't cry. I picked up the solid gold fountain pen, stabbed it violently through the center of the contract, and prepared to drag the entire First Family straight to hell.