Marrying the Enemy's Brother
9.3 / 10.0
Share
Elara Voss never imagined that a single mistake could turn her life upside down. A brilliant marketing strategist with ambition as sharp as her wit, she thrives on control, until the day she crashes her rival's luxurious wedding, causing a scandal that will haunt her in high society.
Enter Dante Cross: the notorious billionaire, charmingly arrogant, and impossibly handsome, the bride's brother. In a moment of impulsive defiance, he proposes an outrageous solution to save face: a marriage neither of them wants... but both are forced to accept.
Thrown together in a world of glitz, power, and unspoken secrets, Elara and Dante clash at every turn. Sparks ignite as pride battles attraction, and the closer they get, the more dangerous their connection becomes. With hidden rivalries, family secrets, and unexpected betrayals swirling around them, Elara must navigate a game of social intrigue and decide if love is worth risking everything.
Will their forced union survive the chaos, or will the very secrets that brought them together tear them apart forever?
Marrying the Enemy's Brother Chapter 1
1226 words
The sun glimmered off the marble floors of the Grand Carlton Hall. Chandeliers hung like frozen rivers of light, casting delicate patterns across the white and gold decor. Every detail of the wedding was perfect. Flowers bloomed in precise arrangements. Soft music floated through the air. Guests in elegant gowns and suits moved gracefully, their laughter punctuated by polite applause.
Elara Voss stood near the grand staircase, adjusting the hem of her pale blue dress. Her heart thumped in her chest. Everything felt too staged, too controlled. She had always loved her best friend. And yet, she could not shake the uneasy coiling in her stomach. Something was wrong with this wedding. She had seen the signs.
The groom smiled at the bride, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Everything seemed perfect to everyone else. But Elara knew the truth. The groom had married before. Twice. Both times he had chosen the wrong woman. And now, she had the unsettling certainty that her friend would become another trophy.
Elara clenched her hands, feeling the satin of her gloves wrinkle under her grip. She had to act.
The ceremony began. The organ swelled. Guests rose to their feet. Elara walked forward, her movements smooth, practiced, and calm on the outside, though her pulse raced like a drum in her ears. She moved toward the flower table near the aisle, where she knew the champagne glasses were perched. She dipped her fingers into the water of the floral arrangements, testing her plan.
It was simple. Just a little disruption. Nothing permanent. Nothing dangerous. The champagne would spill. A small accident. It would force the wedding to pause, and maybe, just maybe, someone would notice the truth she had seen all along.
Her eyes flicked to the bride. She looked radiant, unaware of the potential disaster waiting just beyond her smile. Elara felt her stomach twist. She did not want to hurt her friend. But she had to prevent this wedding. She could not let history repeat itself. She could not stand by.
A soft chuckle came from behind her. She froze. A man in a dark suit and sharp eyes watched her from across the hall. She did not know him, but his presence made her skin prickle. For a heartbeat, she thought about retreating. Then she remembered why she was here. She was doing this for her friend.
Elara lifted her hand, tipping the champagne glass just enough. Liquid tumbled toward the edge. She inhaled, steadying herself. She imagined the bride stepping forward, the ceremony halted, the truth revealed. The satisfaction of saving her friend filled her, sharp and sweet.
Then a voice whispered near her ear. "Be careful, Elara."
She spun around, heart leaping, but no one was there. Only the echoes of her own decision.
And then it happened.
A slip. The glass wobbled in her hands. Champagne spilled across the table, sliding toward the bride. The music faltered as a gasp spread through the crowd. Guests turned their heads. The bride froze, her perfect smile faltering. A shimmer of panic flashed in her eyes.
Elara froze as well, realizing her hands shook uncontrollably. Her stomach sank. The water from the flowers mixed with the champagne and ran across the floor, dripping onto the bride's gown. Screams rose from somewhere deep in the hall. Someone shouted. Cameras flashed. Guests leaned forward, murmuring in disbelief.
The bride spun around, looking straight at her. Her expression was confusion, shock, and hurt. "Elara, what are you doing?" Her voice trembled, but the tone cut like a knife.
Elara swallowed, her mouth dry. "I… I am stopping this." Her words sounded smaller than she imagined. "I cannot let this happen."
A heavy silence fell. The organist paused mid-note. Guests froze in collective disbelief. A small boy dropped his toy quietly, eyes wide.
Somewhere in the distance, the groom stepped forward, brow furrowed, mouth tight. He looked more surprised than angry, yet the tension in the room shifted immediately toward him. Murmurs spread. Whispers wound through the crowd like wildfire. Elara felt every eye fix on her. The heat of embarrassment and shame burned through her chest.
Her friend stumbled back slightly, eyes searching Elara’s face. "You cannot…" she whispered. "Why would you…?"
Elara’s heart pounded. She wanted to explain. She wanted to tell her friend the truth. That she had only ever wanted to protect her. That she had only acted to stop what she believed was a disaster. But no words could reach through the crackling tension in the air. The moment had exploded beyond explanation.
And then, just as her knees threatened to buckle, she saw him.
A tall figure stepped from the shadows of the grand staircase. Dark hair perfectly styled. Eyes sharp, observing everything. He walked toward her with purpose, his polished shoes clicking on the marble floor. Guests parted instinctively, their whispers following him like a tide.
Dante Cross.
Elara felt her stomach drop. He stopped a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. There was power in his stance, control in his gaze. And for the first time, Elara felt like someone might see more than just the chaos she had caused.
"Quite a show," he said softly, his voice calm, but every word was edged with something dangerous. "You must really care about this bride."
Elara’s mouth opened, then closed. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I… I did not mean to…" she started.
Dante’s gaze swept the room. The whispers, the stares, the disapproving glances. Then he turned back to her. "It does not matter what you intended," he said. "What matters is the damage done. And there is a way to fix it."
Elara swallowed hard. Her chest tightened. "Fix it?"
He inclined his head slightly. "Yes. But it will require… commitment."
The room felt smaller. Every whisper pressed against her ears. Every eye was on her. The bride’s shocked face, the groom’s silent tension, the society’s collective gasp—it all crashed over her. And Dante’s gaze, so calm, so commanding, so unyielding, held her in place.
Commitment. The word echoed in her mind. What did he mean? She did not know. She did not want to know. All she knew was that she could not undo what she had done. There was no erasing the mess. No pretending it never happened.
The music restarted, awkwardly, out of tune with the chaos in the room. Guests shifted, muttering, glancing at one another. The bride clutched her bouquet, pale, and trembling. The groom’s jaw tightened.
Elara felt a tremor run through her fingers. She had crossed a line. She had created a scandal. And somehow, the man standing before her, the one with a quiet, lethal calm, held the key to what came next.
Her stomach knotted. She wanted to run. But something in the depths of her chest told her she could not. That she was trapped. That the moment had gone beyond her control.
Dante’s eyes never left hers. "Decide quickly," he said. "Because the world does not wait for hesitation. And neither do I."
Elara’s breath caught. The wedding, the scandal, the whispers, the shame, it all spun around her like a hurricane. And at the center of it, she realized something terrifying.
There was no going back.
Continue Reading
Marrying the Enemy's Brother of Contents
New Release Novels
7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
9.7
I am the Luna of the Blackwood Pack, but my Alpha mate, Ryker, has spent the last six years treating me like a placeholder while publicly pining for his ex, Faye.
When Faye's friends cornered my wolfless daughter and called her a defective embarrassment, I finally used my Luna authority to kick them out.
But instead of defending our child, Ryker stormed in and used his Alpha Command on me.
He forced me to my knees with his raw power, ordering me to apologize to the bullies who had just humiliated our daughter.
When I fought his crushing command and refused, his retaliation was swift and brutal.
He and his mother stripped me of my family's sacred heritage, the Moonpetal Grove, and gifted it to Faye as a reward.
They even tried to force a quack doctor on my daughter, telling me to just accept that she was broken.
The entire pack watched me lose everything, mocking me as the useless, rejected mate.
I had endured his coldness for years, but watching him sacrifice our daughter's safety and my family's legacy for his mistress was the final straw.
How could the Moon Goddess tie me to a man who would so easily destroy his own flesh and blood?
Instead of crying, I pulled out my mother's ancient grimoire and drafted a formal rejection of our mate bond.
And when a terrifyingly powerful, cloaked stranger suddenly appeared to save my daughter's life, carrying a familiar scent of ancient power, I knew my fate was changing.
This time, I wouldn't just walk away. I was going to burn their world to the ground.
7.8
For five years, I was the flawless wife to the heir of the De Luca empire, securing billion-dollar acquisitions to prove my worth.
But my husband, Alessandro, still paraded his mistress in our home, publicly humiliating me as a "cold spreadsheet" while she sneered in triumph.
It didn't stop at infidelity. When I dared to cut off her credit cards, Alessandro decided to teach me a lesson.
He allowed his mistress to secretly file down the metal clasp on my horse's saddle right before a massive public equestrian event.
My leg was completely shattered in a horrific, agonizing fall in front of hundreds of elite guests.
While I lay bleeding in the dirt, my husband didn't even glance my way. Instead, he rushed to hold his mistress, shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight.
Later, pretending to be unconscious in the infirmary, I overheard him ordering his guards.
"Get rid of the saddle. It was just a lesson to remind her who's in charge."
He didn't just want me humiliated; he wanted me crippled and broken.
As the sterile smell of the hospital hit me, a horrifying realization set in—I was two weeks late. I was pregnant with his child.
The thought of my baby growing up in this ruthless, toxic family made my blood run cold, and the last spark of my love turned into absolute hatred.
The obedient wife died on that dirt track.
I quietly contacted his family's biggest rival and activated my secret scorched-earth protocol. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.
9.2
Celestia woke up heavily sedated, her wrists bound tightly to the legs of a grand piano in a cold, opulent room.
Before she could even process the panic, a towering billionaire named Sterling Sinclair IV stepped in, looking at her like a possessed piece of art.
The head maid then handed Celestia a thick surrogacy contract with her perfectly forged signature.
"You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair," the maid stated flatly.
Celestia screamed that they had the wrong person, but her desperate cries bounced uselessly off the soundproof walls.
Stripped of her clothes, phone, and identity, she was trapped on an isolated island surrounded by high-voltage electric fences and armed guards.
When she furiously fought back, Sterling physically overpowered her, punishing her resistance with brutal, terrifying dominance until she lost consciousness on the marble floor.
She didn't understand who had kidnapped her from her normal life.
Why was her biometric data perfectly faked in a classified dossier?
Who had framed her as a willing, ten-million-dollar premium product for a ruthless billionaire?
Driven by pure survival, Celestia began aggressively consuming raw garlic and bathing in harsh white vinegar to destroy her fertility and repel his touch.
And when Sterling finally reviewed her bizarre, self-sabotaging dietary logs, the terrifying truth hit his calculating mind like a physical blow.
The broken, innocent woman he had been brutally tormenting all week was never his hired surrogate.
8.6
To save my father's failing workshop from ruthless loan sharks, I sold one year of my life.
I signed a fake marriage contract with Cameron Fox, an icy billionaire who needed a wife to pacify his sick grandmother. The rules were strict: it was purely a commercial transaction, with absolutely no physical contact and no emotional attachments.
Soon after, that cold hearted man seemed different to me. Wait, is he pursuing me?
![[Dubbed Version]Price of Blind Devotion](https://v.melolo.com/b1265344voduse1318177724/a036e8e15145403705097059615/ExW5ljgp6d8A.webp!15491.webp!15491.webp)
