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 3
The Maybach glided out of the parking garage and merged seamlessly into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. Inside the cabin, a thick, soundproof partition rolled up, completely separating the rear seats from the driver and L. Thorne.
Eleanore curled her knees to her chest, pressing herself into the far corner of the leather seat. The drug was making her skin feel too tight, her blood too hot. She tugged at the collar of Alexander's oversized suit jacket, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Alexander reached into the built-in console cooler. He pulled out a bottle of chilled water, twisted the cap off with one hand, and held it out to her.
Eleanore took it with shaking hands. She brought it to her lips and drank greedily. A drop of water escaped the corner of her mouth, sliding down her pale neck and disappearing into the dark fabric of the jacket.
Alexander's eyes tracked the drop of water. His Adam's apple bobbed once, a sharp, rigid movement.
The ice water shocked her system, bringing a small sliver of clarity back to her brain.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice raspy.
Alexander leaned back against the seat. He crossed one long leg over the other, resting his hands on his knee. He looked at her with the cold, calculating gaze of a man evaluating an asset.
"Marriage," he said.
The word dropped into the quiet car like a bomb.
Eleanore let out a weak, incredulous laugh. "You're insane. You're Alexander Briggs. Why would you marry a bankrupt pariah?"
Alexander leaned forward, his massive frame invading her personal space. The scent of cedar and expensive tobacco wrapped around her.
"Because Johan Conway wants you," Alexander said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "And I want to break him."
He reached over and tapped a button on the armrest. A small screen slid out from the console, displaying a complex web of corporate ownership structures.
"I am currently executing a hostile takeover of Conway Group," Alexander explained, his tone completely devoid of emotion. "Johan's position on the board is fragile. If I take the woman he is publicly obsessed with, he will lose his mind. He will make mistakes. And I will gut his company."
Eleanore stared at the glowing screen. A cold shiver ran down her spine. He was using her as a weapon. It was ruthless. It was cruel.
The Maybach slowed down, descending into the private underground garage of the Briggs Tower. The car stopped.
Alexander opened the door and stepped out. He didn't wait for Thorne. He walked around to her side and opened her door, offering his hand. It looked like a gentlemanly gesture, but the hard set of his jaw made it clear it was an order.
She took his hand. His palm was hot and calloused.L. Thorne got to the office ahead of time.
He led her to a private executive elevator that shot them straight to the top floor. The doors opened to a massive, glass-walled office that overlooked the glittering skyline of New York City.
L. Thorne was already standing by the massive oak desk. He placed a thick, leather-bound folder on the surface and stepped back.
Alexander unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down behind the desk. He gestured toward the folder with his chin. "Read it."
Eleanore walked on unsteady legs toward the desk. She opened the folder.
Prenuptial Agreement and Three-Month Partnership Terms.
She scanned the pages, her eyes widening at the clinical precision of the clauses.
"Three months," Alexander stated, watching her face intently. "You will live with me. You will act the part of a devoted wife in public. In ninety days, we file for a quiet divorce."
Eleanore gripped the edge of the desk. "And what do I get?"
"I pay off the remaining three million dollars of your father's debt tomorrow morning," Alexander said smoothly. "And I build a wall around you that Johan Conway can never cross."
The offer was staggering. Three months of playing pretend, and she would be entirely free. No debt. No Johan.
Her fingers trembled as she traced the edge of the paper. "What if Johan tries to force his way to me? He's violent."
Alexander pulled a silver lighter and a cigar from his desk drawer. He lit it, taking a slow drag. The thick smoke curled around his face, masking the sudden, terrifying darkness in his eyes.
"As long as you carry the name Briggs," Alexander said, his voice dropping an octave, "no one on this earth will dare touch a single hair on your head."
Eleanore's heart gave a violent thump. For three years, she had lived in constant fear of Johan's temper. The absolute, terrifying protection Alexander offered was the most intoxicating thing she had ever heard.
She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting beside the document. She thought of Johan's twisted face in the hotel room.
She didn't read the rest of the fine print. She pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name.
Alexander watched the ink flow from the pen. A muscle in his jaw twitched. A flash of something wild and triumphant crossed his eyes, gone so fast Eleanore thought she imagined it.
He stood up, took his copy of the agreement, and locked it inside a steel wall safe. The heavy metal door slammed shut with a final, echoing thud.
He walked back to the desk and picked up her signed copy. He ran his thumb slowly over her signature.
"Deal," Alexander said. He looked over at Thorne. "Have the car brought back around."
Eleanore frowned, confusion cutting through her exhaustion. "Where are we going at this hour?"
Alexander's lips curved into a sharp, predatory smile. "To get you your freedom, Eleanore. We're going to City Hall."
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8.0
Abigayle was the proud heir to the Pena Group, living a perfect life and engaged to Jeffery Sullivan.
But the morning after a charity gala, she woke up drugged in a hotel room, blinded by paparazzi cameras. Her fiancé and her best friend stood at the foot of the bed, throwing a forged pregnancy report at her face to publicly frame her for cheating.
The betrayal was only the beginning of the slaughter. Before she could even clear her name, the Sullivan family ruthlessly bankrupted her family's company overnight. Her father was rushed to the ICU with a heart attack, her brother was run off the road into a coma, and violent repo men raided her penthouse. Just as she was thrown out into the freezing rain, Jeffery's terrifying uncle, Donovan Sullivan—the very mastermind who engineered her family's ruin—stepped in. He offered to cover the life-saving medical bills, but only if she agreed to become his personal plaything.
Abigayle's blood turned to ice. She couldn't understand how the people she trusted most could plot such a vicious, coordinated destruction just to break an engagement. How dared the man who destroyed her entire family stand there playing the savior, trying to buy her body with her own stolen wealth?
Facing a $100,000 hospital deadline and abandoned by everyone she knew, she didn't shed another tear.
"I will never beg him."
Clutching her last diamond bracelet, she hailed a cab straight to the biggest pawnshop in the Diamond District. The Sullivans thought they had buried her, but her counterattack was just beginning.
7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.
9.4
Six years ago, Breanna was shoved into a pitch-black hotel suite by her own uncle.
She was forced to endure a brutal night with a drugged stranger just to keep her grandmother's ventilator running.
Nine months later, she gave birth in a cold underground clinic.
But her uncle immediately snatched the crying newborn from her trembling hands, coldly announcing the baby had died.
For six years, Breanna lived in agonizing grief, working as a lowly hotel cleaner just to survive.
But a cruel setup threw her directly into the path of Elliot Finch, the arrogant billionaire from that dark night.
He did not recognize the woman whose life he had completely ruined.
Instead, he looked at her like she was rotting garbage, had his guards drag her into a wet alley, and mercilessly got her fired.
"If I ever see your face again, I will make sure you cannot get a job cleaning toilets."
Breanna was suffocating from the injustice, stripped of her dignity and her family's only lifeline.
Yet, when she instinctively protected a traumatized little boy from bullies, she discovered he was Elliot's son.
The boy clung to her neck, crying and desperately begging his father to let her stay.
But Elliot just threw a massive check at her chest, violently accusing her of brainwashing a sick child for a meal ticket.
Looking at the toxic disgust in his eyes, something inside Breanna finally broke.
She picked up the check, ripped the millions into tiny shreds, and let them rain down on his expensive shoes.
"Keep your dirty money."
She turned her back on the crying boy and the stunned billionaire, deciding she would no longer be their victim.
8.8
On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls.
Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa.
Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing.
"As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her.
Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family.
Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup.
I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm.
Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory?
I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night.
If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps.
Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell.
I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.
7.9
Eileen Goff was a nobody, scrubbing diner tables to survive while her greedy family bled her dry.
On the eve of her twentieth birthday, the government's mandatory marriage algorithm matched her with a spouse.
It wasn't a plumber or a teacher. It was Harrison Butler, the ruthless, untouchable billionaire king of Butler Industries.
At the registry, Harrison's glamorous intended fiancée threw a half-million-dollar check at her.
"Take the money, get out of here, and never show your face again."
The registry supervisor even offered her a million dollars to sign a cancellation agreement, trying to erase her from the system.
At their first high-society gala, Harrison's stepmother and the fiancée locked Eileen in an empty room, plotting to humiliate her and prove she was just cheap trash.
Eileen was terrified and confused. Men like Harrison Butler didn't just accept federal matches with girls who smelled like fried onions.
But instead of abandoning her, Harrison smashed the door open, publicly banished his own family, and kissed her in front of the entire city's elite.
Why was this billionaire going to such extreme lengths to protect a complete stranger?
Then she overheard his assistant talking about a marriage clause in his grandfather's trust fund.
He didn't love her; he just needed a powerless, state-mandated wife to lock his parasitic family out of his empire.
Realizing she was a highly valuable pawn, Eileen stopped trembling, looked the billionaire in the eye, and spoke.
"I believe we can have more than just a legal relationship. We can have a business arrangement."
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.