Married To My Toxic Ex-Boyfriend's Brother

Eleanore's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke, but the sharp sting barely registered over the roaring in her ears.

She shoved past a group of laughing socialites in the Plaza Hotel ballroom, her vision blurring at the edges. The heat started in her stomach, a thick, unnatural warmth that was rapidly spreading outward, turning her blood into liquid fire. She stumbled, her heel catching on the thick carpet.

A waiter holding a tray of champagne stepped into her path. She violently swerved to avoid him, her shoulder colliding hard with a marble pillar.

Ten minutes. It had only been ten minutes since Johan handed her that sparkling water with his signature, possessive smile. The realization hit her like a physical blow to the chest.

"Eleanore!"

Johan's voice cut through the jazz music from across the room. It wasn't a call; it was a command.

Panic seized her throat, choking off her oxygen. She pushed through the heavy side doors, escaping the suffocating noise of the banquet and stumbling into the dimly lit VIP hallway. The cold air-conditioning hit her flushed skin, but it did nothing to stop the relentless burning inside her veins.

She reached the end of the corridor. A yellow maintenance sign blocked the elevator.

She spun around, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She grabbed the brass handle of the nearest guest room door. Locked. She yanked the next one. Locked.

The sound of the ballroom doors opening echoed down the hall. Johan was coming.

She desperately twisted the brass handle of the presidential suite at the very end of the hall. To her shock, it wasn't fully engaged-perhaps a maid had just stepped out. She threw her weight against the heavy double doors, and the unlatched wood gave way. She practically fell inside, her knees hitting the thick, hand-woven wool rug. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, the automatic lock engaging with a solid thud.

She was trapped.

Eleanore stayed on her hands and knees, her chest heaving as she tried to pull air into her burning lungs. The room was dark, illuminated only by a single floor lamp in the corner.

Then, she heard the clink of ice against glass.

She jerked her head up. A massive silhouette sat in the center of the leather sofa.

Alexander Briggs set his whiskey glass down on the mahogany table. The sharp sound echoed in the quiet room. He leaned forward, the dim light catching the sharp, ruthless angles of his jaw. He looked down at her, his expression entirely unreadable.

Eleanore's stomach plummeted. She knew that face. It was plastered across the front page of the Wall Street Journal almost weekly. He was a corporate butcher.

She instinctively scrambled backward, but her limbs felt like lead. The drug was pulling her under.

Alexander stood up. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. He crossed the room, his expensive leather shoes stopping mere inches from her trembling fingers. The sheer physical presence of the man sucked the remaining oxygen from the room.

He crouched down. His large, rough thumb and forefinger clamped around her burning jaw, forcing her head up.

"Please," Eleanore whispered, her voice cracking. A fresh wave of unnatural heat surged up her spine, threatening to snap her consciousness in half. She bit down on her lower lip until she tasted copper, using the sharp spike of pain to desperately try and anchor her mind. "Call an ambulance."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Alexander's chest.

He moved his thumb, slowly wiping the drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. "By the time an ambulance gets through Manhattan traffic, sweetheart, you'll be tearing your own clothes off."

Outside the door, heavy footsteps approached.

"Where is she?" Johan's voice was muffled but furious. "Check the doors!"

Eleanore's entire body violently shuddered. Pure, unadulterated terror iced over her veins. Without thinking, her hand shot out, her fingers twisting desperately into the fabric of Alexander's suit jacket.

Alexander looked down at her white-knuckled grip on his clothes. A dark, dangerous gleam flashed in his eyes. His thumb subtly grazed the face of his custom Patek Philippe watch, pressing a concealed panic button twice.

Before she could process his movement, his arms went under her knees and behind her back. He lifted her off the floor effortlessly.

Eleanore gasped, her face pressing into his chest. The sharp, clean scent of cedarwood and raw male pheromones engulfed her senses, clashing violently with the drug in her system. The heat inside her spiked to an unbearable degree.

He dropped her onto the wide leather sofa, immediately caging her in with his arms on either side of her head.

"I can be your antidote," Alexander murmured, his breath brushing against her lips. "But it's going to cost you."

The door handle rattled violently.

"Eleanore! Open this damn door!" Johan screamed, slamming his fist against the wood.

The sound of Johan's voice broke the last thread of Eleanore's sanity. She couldn't let Johan take her. She would rather die.

Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks. She reached up, her trembling hands wrapping around the thick column of Alexander's neck, and pulled him down.

She pressed her lips to his. It was clumsy, desperate, and driven by pure fear.

Alexander's body went completely rigid for a fraction of a second. Then, his breathing turned ragged. He took over. His large hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place as his mouth devoured hers. It was a punishing, invasive kiss that sent a shockwave of electricity straight to her core.

He shifted his weight, his large body covering hers entirely, making the scene look undeniably intimate.

A loud beep echoed through the room. The hotel manager had used the master key.

The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Johan stormed in, flanked by two bodyguards.

Johan froze. His eyes locked onto the sofa. The veins in his neck bulged instantly.

"Get off her!" Johan roared, the sound ripping from his throat like a wounded animal.

Alexander slowly pulled back from Eleanore's lips. He didn't look panicked. He didn't even look surprised. He calmly reached down, pulling the edges of his suit jacket tightly around Eleanore's bare shoulders, shielding her flushed skin from the doorway.

Johan lunged forward, his hand reaching out to grab Eleanore's arm.

Alexander didn't even stand up. He simply shifted his weight and drove his heavy dress shoe directly into Johan's kneecap.

Johan let out a sharp cry of pain, stumbling backward and crashing into the coffee table.

"You touched my woman!" Johan screamed, his face red with manic fury.

Guests from the hallway were already gathering at the door, their eyes wide, whispering frantically.

Before Alexander even had to move, a shadow detached itself from the hallway, having been silently summoned moments prior. L. Thorne, Alexander's head of security, stepped into the room.

Alexander stood up. He slowly adjusted his cuffs, his movements precise and terrifyingly calm. He looked at Johan, then at the crowd, his gaze holding the absolute authority of a king surveying his subjects.

"Watch your mouth, Conway," Alexander's voice was deadly quiet, yet it carried through the entire room. "You are speaking to my future wife."

The word "wife" hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Johan's face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Alexander. "You're out of your mind, Briggs! She's mine! Nobody in New York touches what belongs to the Conway family!"

Eleanore lay on the sofa, clutching Alexander's cedar-scented jacket to her chest. The shock of his declaration acted like a bucket of ice water, momentarily cutting through the drug's haze. She stared at the sharp, unforgiving line of Alexander's jaw, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Alexander let out a dry, humorless laugh. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once and shoved it directly into Johan's face.

"Is that right?" Alexander asked, his tone dripping with lethal mockery.

Johan's eyes dropped to the screen. All the color instantly drained from his face.

It was a high-definition photograph. Johan, standing on the deck of a private yacht, slipping a massive diamond ring onto the finger of Karlie Christensen. The timestamp in the corner read three days ago.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of socialites gathered at the door. The whispers instantly turned into sharp, biting gossip.

Johan's mouth opened and closed. He looked at Eleanore, panic replacing the rage in his eyes. "Eleanore, wait. It's not what it looks like. It's just business. A merger-"

A wave of intense nausea hit Eleanore. It wasn't the drug. It was the sudden, sickening realization of how thoroughly she had been manipulated. Johan had kept her isolated, controlled her finances, and played the devoted lover, all while planning to marry someone else for power.

She gripped the armrest of the sofa and forced herself to stand. Her legs shook violently.

The moment she swayed, Alexander's arm wrapped around her waist like a steel band, pulling her firmly against his side. He didn't look at her, but his grip was unyielding.

A dizzying wave of the drug pulled at her brain, making her vision swim. She dug her fingernails into her own bruised palms, using the biting pain to force her mind into a single line of clarity. Eleanore took a deep, ragged breath. She looked Johan dead in the eye.

"We are done," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but it didn't shake. "Don't ever come near me again."

Johan's eyes widened in disbelief. The idea of losing his grip on her snapped whatever sanity he had left. He lunged at her again, his hands clawing toward her face.

L. Thorne grabbed Johan by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the expensive wallpaper.

"Get your hands off me!" Johan thrashed against the wall.

The crowd parted suddenly. The sharp, rapid clicking of stiletto heels echoed on the hardwood floor.

Karlie Christensen pushed her way to the front. She wore a custom silk gown, her makeup flawless, but her eyes were wild as she took in the scene: her fiancé pinned to the wall, and Eleanore tucked safely under the arm of the most feared man on Wall Street.

Karlie forced a tight, plastic smile onto her face. She looked at Eleanore, her eyes filled with venom.

"Really, Eleanore?" Karlie's voice was high and mocking. "Throwing yourself at other men because your family went bankrupt? Have some dignity."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Alexander slowly turned his head to look at Karlie. His eyes were flat, dead, and utterly terrifying.

"Dignity," Alexander repeated softly. "Like the dignity of the Christensen family begging the Conways for a cash injection because your real estate portfolio is ninety days away from default?"

Karlie's smile vanished. Her jaw dropped.

The Wall Street investors in the crowd immediately pulled out their phones, their eyes darting toward Karlie with predatory interest. Alexander had just publicly executed her family's credit rating.

Alexander didn't waste another second on them. He looked down at Eleanore. The coldness in his eyes vanished, replaced by something dark and intense.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Eleanore shook her head. The adrenaline was fading, and the drug was pulling her back down.

Alexander didn't hesitate. He scooped her up into his arms again.

L. Thorne shoved Johan aside and cleared a path through the doorway. Alexander walked out of the suite, carrying Eleanore against his chest. The crowd of elites parted instantly, pressing themselves against the walls to avoid his path.

Eleanore buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could hear the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat. It was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

They reached the VIP elevator. L. Thorne swiped a keycard and pressed the button for the underground garage.

The stainless steel doors slid shut, cutting off the noise of the hotel. Eleanore looked at their reflection in the polished metal.

"Why?" she whispered, her heavy eyelids drooping. "Why did you do that?"

Alexander looked down at her. He didn't answer. He just tightened his arms around her.

The elevator chimed, opening into the dark, concrete expanse of the parking garage. A black, armored Maybach was already idling near the exit.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light exploded from behind a concrete pillar. Then another.

Paparazzi.

Eleanore flinched, trying to hide her face.

Alexander didn't speed up. He didn't order Thorne to take their cameras. Instead, he stopped walking. He turned his body slightly, ensuring the cameras had a clear view of his profile, and pressed his lips firmly against Eleanore's forehead.

The cameras clicked frantically.

Thorne opened the rear door of the Maybach. Alexander carefully placed Eleanore onto the plush leather seat, then slid in beside her.

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them in the dark.

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."