Poisoned Love, Sweet Vengeance

My brother died because we couldn't come up with the fifty-thousand-dollar surgery fee that could have saved him.

My boyfriend of five years, Holden, told me we were broke. But at the exact moment my brother took his last breath, Holden was buying a two-hundred-thousand-dollar Porsche for his high school sweetheart.

That's when I found out the truth. The man I'd supported for five years wasn't a struggling founder. He was a secret billionaire heir playing poor, and I was just a "placeholder" until his real love came back.

To punish me for discovering his secret, he forced me onto the back of a motorcycle in a dangerous street race. Then he jumped off the moving bike to save his lover from a catcall, leaving me to crash.

He left me bleeding on the asphalt with a broken leg to rush her to the hospital. Later, he forced me to donate my blood to her because she was "in shock."

He told me my brother was a "sunk cost" and that my suffering was my own fault. He even demanded I get on my knees and apologize for distracting him.

But Holden didn't know about my grandfather, or the pact he made with five of the most powerful men in the country-a pact to protect me at all costs. Now, I've faked my own death, and I'm about to marry his greatest rival.

Chapter 1

My brother was dead.

The words echoed in the sterile, white hallway of the hospital, a final, flat note from the doctor that ended a symphony of hope I had foolishly conducted for months.

He died at 3:02 PM.

At that exact moment, my boyfriend of five years, Holden Herrera, was at a dealership, signing the papers for a vintage Porsche.

I found him in the garage of the small house we shared, the house I paid for. He was polishing the hood of the car, a gleaming silver beast that looked ridiculously out of place next to my sensible sedan.

"He's gone, Holden." My voice was hollow, a stranger's voice.

Holden didn't look up. He just kept wiping the shiny metal with a soft cloth, his movements slow and deliberate.

"I told you not to bother me today," he said, his tone flat. "I had the appointment for the car."

"My brother just died." I repeated the words, hoping they might pierce the thick wall of his indifference. "The hospital called. His body gave out."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" He finally stood up, tossing the rag onto a workbench. He looked at me, his eyes empty of any emotion. "You're tracking my location again, aren't you?"

"I called you. You didn't answer."

"I told you, Elaine. We have an agreement. No big expenses without discussion. We're trying to build a future."

His words were so absurd they almost made me laugh. Our "agreement." The pact we made while I worked two jobs to support his "struggling" tech startup, while he drained our joint savings account.

"Fifty thousand dollars," I whispered, the number tasting like poison. "That's all it would have cost for the experimental surgery. It could have saved him."

"It was experimental," he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "A long shot. And he was sick his whole life. It was just his time."

"He was twenty-two."

Holden just shrugged. "And we can't afford it. End of story."

I stared at him, at the man I had loved, the man I had supported, the man I believed was just down on his luck. But my mind was replaying a phone call I had overheard last week, a call that shattered the five-year-long illusion.

He wasn't a struggling founder. He was Holden Herrera, the sole heir to the Herrera tech dynasty, a fortune worth billions.

This Porsche wasn't just a car. It cost over two hundred thousand dollars. He bought it for his high school sweetheart, Betsy Long, who was back in town. He bought it with the money from our savings, the money I had begged him for, the money that could have saved my brother's life.

He saw the look on my face, the dawning, horrific understanding. But he felt no guilt.

"We needed to save that money," he said flatly, his voice cold. "The Porsche was an investment."

"An investment for Betsy?" I asked, the name feeling foreign and sharp on my tongue.

His eyes narrowed. He didn't bother to deny it.

That was it. The love I had held for him, the hope, the endless excuses I made for his coldness, it all curdled into something hard and ugly.

It was over.

And a new thought, cold and clear, surfaced from the depths of my grief. A memory of my grandfather, Alphons Day, and a promise he' d made. A promise involving five men, a brotherhood of power he had built, sworn to protect me.

One of them was a man named Craig Webb.

I walked out of the garage, leaving Holden with his precious car. I carried a small box from the hospital, containing the few things my brother had left behind. His favorite watch, a worn book, a photo of us as kids.

As I reached the sidewalk, a sleek convertible pulled up. It was the Porsche.

Holden was in the driver's seat. In the passenger seat, a woman with blonde hair and a smug smile, Betsy Long, was laughing at something he said.

I stopped. I stared at them.

"Really, Elaine?" Holden's voice dripped with annoyance, as if I were a piece of trash on his perfect lawn. "You're going to make a scene?"

I didn't say anything. I just held the box tighter.

"You know our agreement," he repeated, the words now a cruel mantra. "We had a plan."

"Your brother was a sunk cost," Betsy chimed in, her voice like tinkling glass. "Holden made the smart business decision."

Holden shot her a fond look, then turned his cold gaze back to me. "What are you holding? Did you bring me some junk from the hospital to try and guilt me?"

Betsy leaned forward, feigning concern. "Holden, honey, be nice. Maybe she can't handle a man with ambition. Some women just can't."

He reached over and squeezed her hand, a gesture of affection he hadn't shown me in years.

I used to cry when he was cruel. I used to beg for his attention. But now, I felt nothing but a chilling calm.

"You're right," I said, my voice steady.

They both looked surprised.

"We're done, Holden," I said. "We're breaking up."

I turned and walked back into the house, not looking back. I went straight to my room and closed the door.

My phone rang. It was my best friend, Chloe.

"Are you sure, Elaine?" she asked, her voice full of worry. "After five years? Can you really let him go?"

I was silent for a long time.

Let him go? No. I was going to destroy him.

My mind flashed back to the hospital, just a few days ago. My brother, pale and weak, gasping for breath.

I had dropped to my knees in front of Holden, right there in the hallway.

"Please, Holden," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Just fifty thousand. I'll pay you back every cent. Please."

He looked down at me, his face a mask of stone.

"No," he said.

"He's only twenty-two," I cried. "He has his whole life ahead of him."

"That's not my problem," he said, turning away. "I have a car to buy. That's my priority."