Trading A Fake Marriage For A Real Vow
Bryson once gave Helena his whole heart, yet betrayal followed when he wed another.
He claimed her absence forced his hand, insisting the other woman was only a substitute.
Helena refused to accept this false marriage or any more of his excuses.
She gathered evidence, secured much of his fortune through court, then stunned everyone by marrying Bryson's own brother.
Rumors whispered that Callum longed for someone out of reach, until one day, he posted a picture of intertwined hands, bands matching.
On a trip, he introduced Helena as his beloved wife.
When Helena wasn't around, one of his friends asked, "What about the girl you've loved for so many years?"
Callum's gaze fell upon Helena's silhouette. "She stands right beside me."
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Chapter 4
Charlee leaned close to Bryson, her posture cautious as she whispered, "Is this the right way to hold the paddle?"
Helena's brow lifted with quiet challenge as she called out again, "Three million six hundred thousand."
"Three million six hundred and ten thousand," Charlee said without missing a beat.
The absurdity of the situation was impossible to ignore. No matter what Helena offered, Charlee always stepped neatly over it by exactly ten thousand, like she was doing it on purpose.
With a pleading look, Charlee turned to look at Helena as if she'd been deeply wronged. "Helena, I really need that emerald sculpture. You already have so many beautiful things. Could you please let me have this one? If the price gets any higher, I won't be able to afford it anymore."
Helena's lips curled in open amusement. "But isn't Bryson the one paying for it?"
Charlee's gaze dropped, and she pressed her teeth lightly against her lip. "He works so hard for what he earns. I don't want him spending too much on me. I want to save him some money."
How thoughtful. How perfectly innocent it sounded, as if she were doing Bryson a favor.
Round after round passed, until the auction price finally reached three million eight hundred thousand.
Something sharp and icy settled deeper in Helena's chest. She started to lift her paddle again, but Bryson moved faster, pushing her hand down to stop her.
"Helena, since Charlee says she truly needs it, just let her have it," he said.
Helena stared at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
"I already promised her a gift. This is the one she wants. Don't take it away from her," Bryson replied.
The moment he finished speaking, Helena felt something inside her drop straight into a frozen void.
Long before he ever married her, he had taken the time to dig through every detail of her past. He knew exactly what kind of history existed between her and Charlee.
Ever since childhood, the two of them had been unable to stand in the same space without tension twisting between them. The accident that killed her parents could easily be traced back to Charlee's indirect involvement.
She could hardly stand the sight of Charlee, and she was certain Bryson understood exactly what she felt about her.
Charlee would have never had the chance to set foot in this place if not for Bryson.
He was the reason Charlee dared to challenge her at all.
A bitter laugh slipped from Helena. "What if I refuse to give up on it?"
She lifted her paddle and called out, "Four million."
A heavy silence swept through the hall. All attention landed directly on them.
Noticing the tension, the auctioneer attempted to maintain order. "The lady with paddle number 7 bids four million. Any other offers?"
As the auctioneer repeated the question, Charlee's eyes brimmed with tears, as though she had suffered a terrible injustice. "Four million and ten thousand."
A chill settled into Helena's palm as she prepared to raise her paddle once more.
Suddenly, the manager of the auction house hurried over and spoke in a low, respectful tone. "Mrs. Davies, during our recent check, we discovered your account has been frozen. Is there another account you wish to use?"
That revelation struck Helena like a bolt of lightning.
She turned her gaze to Bryson, only to find him avoiding her gaze.
So he was behind this.
Ever since their wedding, their auction accounts had been connected, leaving him with the power to block her access at any moment.
All this trouble, just to make Charlee happy?
Charlee shot Helena a daring glance, the challenge clear in her eyes. "You've been spoiled with treasures since we were kids. Would it really hurt you to let me have this one thing without causing a scene?"
Did Helena truly believe she was still that meek woman she could so easily outmaneuver?
Now, they stood as equals. Their family's fortune was gone. And if Helena was free to fight for what she wanted, why couldn't she?
There was a time when every bit of their parents' affection was reserved for Helena. Now, with no one left to support Helena, she could finally take her on, fair and square.
All the things Helena had—her relationship, her social standing—she was determined to claim them someday.
With her account frozen, Helena couldn't bid for the item anymore.
Charlee's face gleamed with triumph as she called out, "Drop the gravel! Say the item is mine already!"
Just then, a voice came from a private box on the second floor. "Ten million."
The room paused in disbelief before bursting into chaos.
"Who was that? He raised the price so high!"
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7.4
My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.
9.6
In the two years after I married Daniel Carter, my private photos had gone viral nine times, and Daniel had been taken into custody ten times.
Because every time his mistress, Emily Morgan, was unhappy, she would leak my private photos all over the internet.
I, Claire Parker, never let it slide. I reported every shady business Daniel was involved in and personally sent him behind bars.
That lasted until an unexpected kidnapping. I took a bullet for him, one aimed straight at his heart, and he shielded me beneath his body, taking the brunt of the explosion for me.
After we survived, the man who had always been so cold-blooded knelt before me, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Honey, let's leave the drama behind. I just want a peaceful life with you."
Right in front of me, he ordered his men to send his mistress out of Northhaven and never let her appear before him again.
In the third year after we reconciled, I carried my eight-month pregnant belly and brought him lunch.
But on the way there, I was hit by a car. The hospital issued three critical condition notices, yet they still could not save the baby.
Daniel rushed over, but he did not even spare me a glance. Instead, he pulled the woman who had hit me and her child into his arms, soothing her in a low voice.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you and the child."
Only then did I realize that the woman who had hit me was the very mistress he had sent away three years ago.
When I demanded an explanation, Daniel brushed it off as if it were nothing. "She didn't do it on purpose. Don't take it out on her and her son. You can have a baby another time."
At that moment, I finally understood. They had gotten back together long ago.
I looked at him and nodded. "Don't worry, this will never happen again."
7.0
On her wedding night, Liora Vale expected passion from her wealthy husband. Instead, she got rejection and humiliation.
When his dangerously seductive best friend, Kael Draven, corners her on the balcony and claims her virgin body with raw, unprotected fury, Liora discovers a pleasure she never knew existed.
Now addicted to Kael's brutal touch and filthy promises, the once-innocent bride becomes his secret slut, sneaking creampies in limos, riding him at galas, and begging to be bred while her husband sleeps nearby.
Kael won't stop until he destroys Silas and fills Liora's womb with his child.
She was supposed to be the perfect wife... now she's the shameless breeding whore who belongs only to him.
9.4
My husband, the ruthless Underboss of the Ewing crime family, was terrified of one thing: his dead fiancée’s memory.
Or rather, her living sister, Ivana, who used that memory to turn my life into a living hell.
To "apologize" for humiliating me at a gala, Corbett brought me a peace offering: a green macaron.
"Pistachio," he promised. "Your favorite."
I took one bite, and my throat instantly seized. It felt like barbed wire tightening around my windpipe.
It wasn't pistachio. It was almond paste.
Corbett knew I was deadly allergic. He used to carry my EpiPen on our first dates.
As I collapsed to the floor, wheezing and clawing at my neck, a scream ripped from the guest wing.
"Corbett! Help! They're posting mean comments about me again!"
Ivana.
Corbett looked down at me, his dying wife, and then looked toward the hallway where Ivana was crying over Instagram.
He hesitated for only a second.
Then he pulled his leg away from my grasping hand.
"I'll be right back," he said, turning his back on me. "Just... use your pen."
He ran to comfort a healthy woman while I crawled across the carpet, vision tunneling, forcing the needle into my own thigh to restart my heart.
As I lay there shaking, listening to him soothe her, the last thread of love snapped.
I didn't call an ambulance.
I pulled a burner phone from behind the vanity mirror and texted the one man Corbett feared more than death—his rival, Don Kain Solomon.
"I accept. Get me out."
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
8.4
I was drugged and sent to a hotel room to be compromised, but I ended up in the presidential suite with a stranger.
I didn't know the man I clung to in my hallucinogenic haze was my own husband, Devaughn Winters, a man I hadn't spoken to in a year.
When I woke up the next morning, the terror of what I’d done hit me like a physical blow. I fled, leaving behind nothing but a shredded dress and a lingering sense of dread.
I thought I’d finally escaped the cold, suffocating contract of our marriage when I signed the divorce papers, but I was wrong.
My mother-in-law arrived at my apartment, freezing my sick mother’s medical funds and threatening to ruin me for the "infidelity" she claimed I’d committed.
She dragged my secrets into the light, leaving me with no choice but to fight back with a knife in my hand and a 911 call on speaker.
But just as I thought I was free, the man I’d spent the night with—the man who was supposed to be my stranger—tore up our divorce papers and declared that I was his to keep.
I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, trapped between a ruthless father who wanted to sell me for corporate secrets and a husband who demanded I belong to him in life and in death.
How did he not know who I was that night, and why is he suddenly claiming me as his own?
I’m done being a victim, and if he thinks he can own me, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when a cornered woman decides to burn it all down.