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."

At first, I almost understood. Or I told myself I did.

Holden had always been frugal, always talking about saving every penny for his startup. I was the one who managed our finances, who saw the account balance dwindle, who picked up extra design projects to keep us afloat. I believed in his dream. I believed in him.

The truth came by accident.

I was in the hallway outside our home office, on my way to the hospital, when I heard him on the phone. His voice was different-not the strained, weary tone of a struggling founder, but the easy, arrogant cadence of someone used to power.

"Yeah, Mark, the deal is closed. The Porsche is mine."

A pause.

"What do you mean, when am I going to drop the act? The Herrera family wants me back in the fold, but they want me on their terms. I need to play this out."

Herrera. The name hit me like a physical blow. Herrera Tech. The global giant.

"Betsy's back. You know that. I can't just dump the placeholder until I'm secure. She's served her purpose."

Placeholder. That's what I was. A five-year-long human shield to keep his family off his back while he waited for his real love to return.

"Don't worry," Holden laughed. "The old man can't cut me off. The trust is ironclad. But I need the CEO seat, not just a board position. Another year, maybe. Then I'm done with this whole charade."

The world tilted. The floor felt like it was falling away beneath me.

Five years of my life, my love, my money-all a lie.

He was a billionaire playing poor. And the fifty thousand dollars that could have saved my brother? To him, it was less than pocket change. He just didn't want to spend it on me. Or on my family.

He bought the Porsche to impress Betsy.

When I finally confronted them, after they returned from their joyride, I walked into our bedroom to find it in disarray. Her clothes were on the floor, tangled with his.

Betsy emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in my robe, a smug smile on her face.

"Oh, sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "We got a little carried away. The new car, you know? It's very... stimulating."

She ran a hand through her hair. "Holden and I, we just have this connection. It's electric."

I felt a cold rage build inside me. "You're disgusting," I said, my voice low. "Both of you."

Betsy's face crumpled into a mask of theatrical hurt. She scurried behind Holden, who had just entered the room.

"Holden," she whimpered, "did you tell her something bad about me? She's being so mean."

She called him "Holden," but it sounded like an accusation aimed at me.

He turned his cold eyes on me. "Elaine, speak to her properly."

"She was in our bed!" I yelled, the dam of my composure finally breaking. "In my robe!"

"She's my guest," Holden said, his voice dangerously quiet. "And frankly, a little fooling around is not a big deal. Your brother dying wasn't a big deal. Why is this?"

I felt the air leave my lungs. I was tired, so bone-tired. I closed my eyes.

"Get on your knees and apologize to Betsy," Holden commanded, stepping toward me. He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. "Apologize, and maybe I'll forgive you for this scene."

He pushed me down. My knees hit the hardwood floor with a painful crack.

"Do it," he hissed. "Or you'll regret it. You know you can't live without me."

I remembered the last time he'd gotten this angry. He'd thrown a laptop, and it had caught the edge of my brow, leaving a scar I had to cover with makeup. He'd been so sorry afterward, so gentle. It was always followed by gentleness.

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. This man standing before me was a stranger. The man who had once promised to protect me was the one hurting me the most.

He was the one who had killed my brother.

He eventually let me go, leaving with Betsy.

I stayed on the floor for a long time. Then I got up, went to my computer, and began deleting every photo I had of him. Five years of memories, gone in a few clicks.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in years.

"Grandpa," I said, my voice shaking.

"Elaine? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"That pact you made," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "With your protégés. The one where they would... take care of me. Is it still valid?"

"What kind of question is that, Elaine?" My grandfather Alphons's voice was sharp with concern, but he didn't push. He never did.

"Is it?" I insisted.

A short pause. "Of course. Any of them would be honored. Is Craig Webb still single?"

Craig Webb. The first name that came to my mind. The most successful of the five, and Holden's fiercest rival in the tech world.

"Yes, Grandpa. He is."

"Then the choice is yours, sweetheart. Always."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Thank you."

I wasn't just going to leave Holden. I was going to erase him. And I was going to use the power my grandfather had given me to do it.

Holden came back later that night, alone. He found me in the living room. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, a gesture that once felt like home but now felt like a cage.

"I got you something," he murmured into my ear.

He slipped a ring onto my finger. It was thin and cheap, the kind you get from a gumball machine. The stone was plastic.

"Stop with the drama, okay?" he said, his voice trying for gentle but failing. "I'll overlook the lies you told today. Let's just go back to how things were."

I didn't argue. I didn't say a word. There was no point. He wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Betsy is going to be my partner for the underground race tomorrow," he said, changing the subject. "But her mother is worried about her safety. She thinks it's too dangerous."

He tightened his grip on me. "So, you'll do it."

It wasn't a request.

"You'll be my partner on the bike."

I finally turned to look at him. "I have a heart condition, Holden. You know that. The stress, the speed... it could kill me."

I remembered the last time I'd ridden with him, years ago. I'd ended up in the emergency room with heart palpitations, and the doctor had warned me never to do it again.

But I knew this wasn't about the race. It was about punishing me for questioning him, for not being grateful for his cheap ring and his hollow apologies.

"I won't do it," I said, my voice firm.

"This isn't your choice to make." His face hardened, the brief moment of fake gentleness gone. "You're mine, and you'll do as I say."

I thought he would get violent. I braced myself.

But instead, he just left the room. I thought that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

The next day, he dragged me from the house. He was strong, and I was weak from grief and lack of sleep. He threw me into his car and drove to a deserted industrial park on the edge of the city.

The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and cheap beer. A crowd of people surrounded a makeshift racetrack.

He pulled me out of the car and toward a monstrous black motorcycle.

"Holden brought his girl!" someone shouted.

"Damn, she's got a nice body," another one slurred, his eyes raking over me. "How much for a ride, Holden? I'll pay top dollar."

Holden ignored them. He was focused on Betsy, who was standing by the starting line, looking delicate and worried. He'd done this for her before, fought men who looked at her the wrong way.

He walked over to her, took off his leather jacket, and draped it over her shoulders.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice soft and full of a tenderness he never showed me. "I'll win this for you."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently.

My heart didn't just hurt. It felt like it was being physically torn from my chest. All the love, all the care, all the protection he was capable of-it was all for her. It had always been for her.

I was just a placeholder. A fool.