My Nobody Husband, The President's Brother

I opened my eyes, and the familiar gilded ceiling of my childhood bedroom swam into view. I was twenty-two again, on the day of the "Future Leaders" charity gala. This was it.

But this wasn't a fresh start; it was a horrifying replay. Because in my first life, this very day marked the beginning of my agonizing descent into hell. All thanks to Ethan Hayes.

He hated me, blaming me for losing his "true love," Izzy Vance. He systematically destroyed my family, ruined my esteemed father's career, and wiped out everything I held dear. My family's assets were frozen, our reputation shattered. My father, broken by shame, suffered a stroke. I was condemned to a miserable, impoverished existence, ostracized, until I died alone.

I had been a naive girl, a pawn in a cruel political game I never understood. His vindictive revenge was suffocating, impossible to fight. Now, reborn, the terror of that past clawed at my chest, alongside an unyielding, burning resolve.

This time, I wouldn't be his victim. I would save my family at any cost. My desperate plan: fade into obscurity, avoid any powerful connections, and use an unassuming stranger as my strategic shield. What I didn't know was that my chosen "nobody" would shatter all expectations, revealing a destiny more shocking and powerful than revenge itself.

I opened my eyes, and the gilded ceiling of my old bedroom swam into view.

Not the cheap motel room where I'd died, broken and alone.

My hands, they were smooth, young.

I was back.

Twenty-two years old, the day of the "Future Leaders" charity gala.

The day my life, the first time, started its nosedive into hell.

Ethan Hayes.

His face flashed in my mind, handsome, cruel.

He'd destroyed my family, my father's career, everything.

All because he couldn't have Isabelle Vance, his "true love."

And he blamed me.

This time, I wouldn't be his pawn.

I wouldn't let him near my family.

The gala was a modern-day marriage market, thinly veiled as philanthropy.

Young elites "paired" for a major initiative, a symbolic gesture that often led to real alliances, real marriages.

My family, Senator Thompson's family, expected a match that would cement our status.

Last time, they pushed me towards Ethan.

This time, I had a plan. Avoid Ethan. Avoid any powerful connection that could be a target.

I just needed to fade into the background.

The ballroom buzzed. Crystal chandeliers dripped light.

I saw him, Ethan, across the room.

He looked the same, that confident smirk playing on his lips.

He was scanning the crowd, and for a horrible second, I thought his eyes would land on me.

They didn't. He found Izzy.

Isabelle Vance, small, deceptively fragile-looking, was already clinging to his arm.

My stomach twisted. They were both here. Were they reborn too?

The "pairing" began. Names were called.

Each young woman held a small, silk-wrapped "partnership token."

When her name was announced, she'd present it to her chosen partner, or one would be "suggested" by the committee if pre-arrangements were made.

Ethan's name was called with Izzy's.

He strode forward, took her token with a flourish, a public declaration.

"A perfect match!" the announcer boomed.

Whispers of approval. Of course. A former President's son and a Vance.

Then, "Ava Thompson!"

My breath hitched. This was it.

I was supposed to be paired with some minor diplomat's son, someone safe, someone forgettable. That was my father's quiet arrangement after I refused any major names.

I walked forward, my token feeling slippery in my sweaty palm.

As I reached the designated spot, a clumsy waiter, laden with champagne flutes, bumped into a guest, who then stumbled into me.

My token flew from my grasp.

A collective gasp.

Time slowed. The small silk bundle arced through the air.

It was a disaster. A public fumble. Humiliation.

Then, a hand shot out.

A man, dressed in the simple black uniform of event staff, caught it.

He looked... out of place. Scruffy, his hair a bit too long, his expression unreadable.

He held my token.

The announcer, flustered, stammered, "Well, it seems... Miss Thompson's token has chosen its own recipient!"

Laughter rippled through the room. Not kind laughter.

The man looked at the token, then at me.

He had surprisingly calm eyes.

"This is yours, I believe," he said, his voice quiet but clear.

He offered it back, but the damage was done.

The committee members were already huddling, whispering furiously.

My mother looked like she was about to faint. My father's face was stone.

This was worse than fading into the background. This was a spectacle.

An unknown, a nobody, had "caught" Senator Thompson's daughter.

The rules of the gala, archaic as they were, implied an acceptance of such an "accidental" pairing unless immediately and publicly annulled.

Annul it. Everyone expected it.

My father would want me to. It was a social catastrophe.

But then I saw Ethan.

He was watching, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before his usual disdainful mask slipped back on. Izzy was smirking openly.

If I annulled this, if I made a scene, if I showed weakness...

Ethan, in my first life, pounced on any perceived slight, any vulnerability.

He'd used my family's desperation to control me.

This "volunteer," this nobody, was a shield.

An embarrassing shield, but a shield nonetheless.

He couldn't possibly be a threat. He couldn't be a target for Ethan.

I took a deep breath.

"Thank you," I said to the scruffy man, my voice louder than I intended. "I accept this pairing."

A stunned silence fell over the ballroom.

Then, the whispers exploded.

The silence in the car on the way home was heavy, suffocating.

My mother finally broke it, her voice trembling.

"Ava, how could you? A volunteer? Do you know what people will say?"

My father, Senator Thompson, just stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.

"It was an accident, Mother," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"An accident you chose to honor! You could have refused. We could have smoothed it over."

"And what then?" I asked, a bit too sharply. "Be forced into another suitable match? One that might attract the wrong kind of attention?"

They didn't understand. They couldn't.

They didn't remember the ruin.

The memories flooded back, sharp and brutal, as they always did when I thought of Ethan.

First life.

I was so in love with Ethan Hayes. Blindly, stupidly in love.

Our families, the Thompsons and the Hayes, pushed for the union. A political dynasty in the making.

Ethan, however, resented me.

He loved Izzy Vance, but his father, the former President, deemed her family "insufficiently influential."

So, I became the obstacle. The woman forced herself upon him.

Izzy, meanwhile, played her part perfectly. The tragic, heartbroken lover.

She ended up marrying Leo Maxwell, a notorious trust-fund degenerate. A quick, unhappy marriage that ended with her "accidental" overdose.

That was the official story.

After Izzy's death, Ethan's grief turned into a cold, calculated rage.

And he directed it all at me, at my family.

He believed I was the reason he lost Izzy, the reason she was forced into a marriage that killed her.

The accusations started subtly. Whispers of my father's "corruption."

Then, fabricated evidence. Leaks to the press.

My father, a man of integrity, was dragged through the mud.

His career, his reputation, were shattered.

Our family's assets were frozen. Friends turned their backs.

We lost everything.

I remembered Ethan's face when he confronted me, after my father's public disgrace.

"This is for Izzy," he'd said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You took her from me. Now I've taken everything from you."

"I never wanted to be between you," I had cried. "It was our families!"

"You could have refused," he spat. "You enjoyed the attention, the status. You wanted me."

It wasn't true. I had been a naive girl, caught in ambitions far bigger than myself.

But he didn't care.

My father, unable to bear the shame, suffered a stroke. He was left paralyzed, a shadow of his former self.

My mother withered, her spirit broken.

And me? I ended up working dead-end jobs, hounded by creditors, and ostracized.

The final blow was Ethan ensuring no one would help us. He made us pariahs.

He had told me once, during a rare, cruel moment of supposed honesty before the full downfall, "I want you to live a long life, Ava. A long, miserable life, knowing you caused all of this."

He got his wish. I died alone, impoverished, remembering his vow.

Now, reborn, the terror of that past was a living thing inside me.

This "volunteer," this Julian Croft, as I later learned his name was from a discreet inquiry by my father's aide, was my only defense.

An unknown. A nobody.

No power, no influence for Ethan to target or exploit.

My parents wouldn't understand my choice now, but they would be safe.

That was all that mattered.

"I know it seems bad," I said softly to my parents in the car. "But please, trust me. This is for the best."

My mother started crying quietly.

My father just sighed, a sound of utter defeat.

They thought I was throwing my life away out of youthful rebellion or, worse, stupidity.

They didn't know I was desperately trying to save theirs.

The man, Julian Croft. He'd seemed surprised by my acceptance, but not unpleasantly so.

There was a steadiness in his gaze I hadn't expected.

But it didn't matter who he was.

He was my shield. And I would hold onto him, no matter the cost to my pride.