The Billionaire Forced Me to Marry Him to Save His Mistress From Scandal

“I want to divorce Brendon Smith,” I whispered into the phone, clutching it so tightly my knuckles whitened. “File the papers.”

On the other end, my lawyer sighed, his voice heavy with caution. “Stephanie… you know that’s impossible. What about your mother? She’s still under treatment in the Smith-funded hospital. If you divorce him now, she’ll lose everything. She’ll die.”

My throat ached, but I steadied my voice. “Then I’ll transfer her. As soon as possible. I’ll use every last cent of my remaining money if I have to.”

“Stephanie—”

“No one can stop me. File the divorce,” I cut him off, my tone sharper than I’d ever dared before. “But send the papers on the day of the investors’ signing. The same day of the design proposal. That’s when I want Brendon to see them.”

There was silence, then a reluctant murmur. “As you wish.”

I ended the call before my courage faltered. My legs trembled as I stood, moving toward the closet. One by one, I yanked clothes off their hangers, tossing them carelessly into a suitcase. My jewelry, the ones Brendon had bought to make me believe he cares for me, I swept into the trash bin. I wanted nothing that tied me to him. Nothing.

I was about to rip the framed photo of our so-called wedding day—just a paper-signing in his office, no vows, no ceremony—when the door burst open.

Brendon strode inside without knocking, his tone curt. “Cook something. We have visitors tonight.”

I turned, jaw tight. “I’m not feeling well.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make excuses. You’ll do it.”

Before I could protest, his hand pressed firmly against my shoulder, shoving me backward toward the door. I stumbled but caught myself, my chest burning with humiliation. Once again, my voice didn’t matter.

By evening, the house was alive with chatter. Expensive shoes clacked against the marble floor, laughter rang from the living room, and champagne flowed freely. And me? I was in the kitchen, apron tied around my waist, serving plates to strangers as though I were nothing more than the help.

When I finally carried out a tray, balancing dishes as my arms shook, I froze. Eyes turned toward me. One of the guests, a tall man with a polished smile, asked casually, “And who is this?”

Brendon didn’t even blink. “My new maid.”

The room chuckled. My ears rang.

“She looks familiar,” another chimed in. “Wasn’t she the one who tried to smear Kyline’s name years ago? The one who went against her on national news?”

“Oh, how poetic,” someone laughed. “To take her in as a maid. What mercy, Brendon. What mercy, Kyline.”

The sound of laughter crashed over me like waves. I clenched the tray tighter, forcing my hands not to tremble.

Kyline, seated gracefully beside Brendon, smiled sweetly—her eyes glinting with victory. “Please, don’t mock her. It’s my fault. I caused her family pain, and this is my burden to bear. But she has been so kind to forgive me.” She placed a delicate hand over her chest. “I promise I’ll help take care of her mother, too. She doesn’t need to suffer anymore.”

Applause erupted.

“Then she should show gratitude,” a woman sneered. “Kiss her feet. Thank her for her kindness.”

My vision blurred. But I didn’t move. I stood frozen, staring past them, beyond them, into nothingness. I ignored every mocking word, every laugh, every whisper that I didn’t belong.

When I finally retreated, Brendon followed, slamming the door shut behind us. His voice was ice. “What the hell was that? They were speaking to you. And you just walked away?”

I spun around, my composure cracking. “They were mocking me, Brendon! Do you even see what you’ve reduced me to?”

“Dramatic,” he spat. “Overacting again. Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want to parade you like this? I’m doing it for you. If I don’t keep Kyline close, she’ll come after you. She’ll attack you. Or your mother. Everything I do, I do for you.”

Gaslighting. Always gaslighting.

I shook my head, tears streaming. “No. You do it for yourself. For her.”

Before he could reply, a scream tore through the crowd outside. Glass shattered. Panic rippled through the guests.

“Poison!” someone shouted. “The food—something’s wrong!”

I rushed out just in time to see chaos unfolding. Several guests clutched their stomachs, faces pale. One woman collapsed onto the floor, vomiting violently. And then, Kyline herself doubled over, retching, tears streaking her cheeks.

All eyes swiveled toward me.

Whispers erupted like wildfire. It was her. The maid. The wife. She poisoned the food.

Within minutes, the sirens wailed and ambulances whisked the guests away. I found myself in the hospital again, hands trembling, my mind reeling.

Brendon’s fury scorched the air as he cornered me in a sterile corridor. “Did you do this?” he demanded, his face twisted in rage.

I shook my head frantically. “No! Why would I poison anyone? Why would I hurt them? Brendon, I didn’t—”

“Liar!” His roar silenced everything around me. “You wanted revenge. You humiliated me in front of my investors. Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“I swear, I didn’t—”

But before I could finish, his hand cracked across my face. The impact sent me sprawling against the cold hospital wall.

“Hit her again,” he barked to the men beside him. “Teach her a lesson.”

The blows rained down. Fists, boots, strikes that left me gasping and broken. I tried to shield my stomach, to protect the tiny life inside me, but the pain was relentless.

Darkness swallowed me.

When I woke, every part of my body ached. My lips were swollen, my ribs screamed with each shallow breath, and blood dried sticky on my skin.

My first words were a whisper. “My baby… where’s my baby?”

The nurse’s eyes glistened with sympathy as she clutched the clipboard to her chest. Her lips trembled when she finally spoke, soft but heavy as a funeral bell.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The baby didn’t make it.”