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 5
The auctioneer was excited that someone had offered such a high price for the item.
He asked if anyone was going to offer more. Then, when no one answered, he eventually announced that the mysterious bidder from the private box won.
Someone who could get a private box at the auction must be a person with unmatched power.
Helena turned her eyes to the upper floor. The private boxes kept their secrets well, but behind the velvet curtain, she could still spot the faint outline of a solitary figure.
There was something magnetic about that presence, a force that radiated authority.
Curiosity gnawed at Helena as she wondered who the mysterious bidder could possibly be.
As she finally let her fist relax, she saw the deep crescent marks left behind by her own nails.
She was torn between relief that Charlee had lost and a new wave of anxiety about how she would ever get that item back.
Still, the important thing was getting it back, and she was willing to go to any lengths to make sure of that.
She was ready to stand up, intending to approach the mysterious bidder herself, when the manager arrived, trailed by an attendant holding an elegant box.
All around her, people murmured in curiosity.
Smiling, the manager stepped closer to Helena, dipping his head politely before speaking.
"The gentleman who got the item asked that I hand you this emerald sculpture in person. He also wanted me to tell you this—keep chasing your dreams, and may you find success in all you do."
Noise exploded throughout the hall—a tangle of whispers, jealous glances, and stunned expressions swept over the crowd.
"Isn't she Mr. Davies' wife? Why is that man sending her a gift?"
"Who knows? Maybe that man is trying to get on Mr. Davies' good side by doing this."
"That is unlikely the case. Out of everything tonight, why choose this piece? I'm starting to think there's more going on between Mrs. Davies and the mysterious bidder than anyone wants to admit."
Every word reached Bryson's ears clearly.
A shadow fell over his face as he glared at Helena. "Helena, what is really going on between you and that person upstairs?" he asked.
Helena met his gaze with calm indifference. "I have no idea who he is."
"That's a lie!" Bryson shot to his feet in anger, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed until her skin went crimson.
Helena winced but couldn't break free. "What are you doing? Haven't you stirred up enough trouble already?"
Bryson barely seemed to hear her. His grip tightened as he pressed, his voice edged with desperation. "Tell me the truth. Who is that man to you? For all the years we've been married, I've given you everything you ever asked for. Nothing was too expensive. Why are you doing this to me now?"
All at once, Helena saw his game—turning the blame, pretending to be the perfect, selfless husband.
A cold smile spread across her face. "Why are you acting up like this? Do you feel guilty of something, and is that why you are so defensive?"
She shot a loaded glance at Charlee, who lingered at the edge of the chaos, enjoying the scene.
Bryson looked as if he had been struck, surprise and something close to panic flickering in his eyes.
"Helena, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all. I shouldn't have lost my temper over someone you don't even know. It was a mistake on my part." Emotion cracked Bryson's voice, and he looked away, struggling to steady himself. "There's nothing between Charlee and me. She's only here tonight because she helped me with work before. Please believe me."
He then shot a quick look toward Charlee.
At once, Charlee dropped her head and began to cry, her voice trembling through quiet sobs. "I really tried to keep my distance from Bryson. I never meant for you to misunderstand us..."
Before Charlee could keep going, Helena had already yanked her hand free, her expression showing only contempt.
Her words were cold as she said, "Whatever is going on between the two of you, it's no business of mine."
Then, she accepted the emerald sculpture from the attendant.
She sent a quick glance at the now-empty private box, then turned her back on the crowd and left without hesitation.
She still didn't know who that mysterious bidder was, but after everything was settled, she would make a point to find the person and thank him in person.
Outside, rain began to fall, the gusts of cold wind slicing through the air.
Stepping out of the building, Helena hugged her arms to herself against the sudden chill.
She started to reach for her phone to order a ride, but before she could do that, someone's hand gripped her shoulder from behind.
She turned and found Bryson struggling to catch his breath, Charlee trailing just a step behind. Her face clouded over instantly.
No matter where she went, these two refused to leave her alone.
Oblivious to the storm brewing in Helena's eyes, Bryson let his voice take on a pleading edge. "Helena, you know how much Charlee wants this sculpture. Would it be possible for you to let her have it?"
Charlee lingered behind him, her gaze sharp and gloating, every bit of her pleasure impossible to hide.
Desperate to sway Helena, Bryson rushed to add, "I'll buy you anything else you want. Just let Charlee have this."
Hearing that, Helena felt a cold pain twist inside her chest.
It was astonishing—Bryson could stand there, bargaining with her like this, yet conveniently forget how he had once promised to recover every piece of her father's lost items.
Without another word, Helena lifted her hand and struck him, the slap ringing out sharp and clear.
The sound drew gasps from the crowd nearby.
Charlee rushed over to defend Bryson, her voice thick with feigned concern. "How could you treat your husband like that?" she said to Helena.
Bryson turned his face, his expression dark.
Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Helena—always patient and gentle—would ever humiliate him in public like this.
Had she uncovered something he'd kept hidden?
Anger burned in him as his hand unconsciously tightened on her shoulder.
Helena felt the pressure growing, pain spreading through her arm. She scowled and readied herself to break free.
"What do you think you're doing?"
At that moment, a deep, commanding voice rang out, cutting through the scene.
Bryson was caught completely off guard by that, his bloodshot eyes darting up in surprise.
A man stood nearby, half-shrouded by shadows. His suit was crisp and black, his posture composed, almost regal. Cool detachment marked every line of his face as his gaze swept over the scene.
Only when the man moved closer did Bryson's grip loosen. The rage twisting his features slowly gave way to unease he could not hide.
"Callum? When did you return?"
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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.