He Forgot Me, I Married His Brother

A sharp beam of morning sunlight sliced through the gap in the heavy French drapes.

The light stabbed directly into Gretchen's eyes.

She jolted awake with a violent gasp, her hands gripping the silk sheets of an incredibly massive king-size bed.

Her skull felt like it was splitting open from the inside.

She scrambled into a sitting position, looking down in panic.

She was still wearing the expensive, now heavily wrinkled evening gown from last night.

Her eyes darted around the room.

She saw unfamiliar antique mahogany furniture and expensive oil paintings hanging on the walls.

Her heart began to slam against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She turned her head.

Her gaze slammed into the piece of paper resting on the pillow beside her.

The raised seal of the New York City Hall stared back at her.

Her fingers trembled violently as she picked up the certificate.

There it was, printed in stark black ink: Dixon Spencer and Gretchen Valentine.

A wave of pure, suffocating absurdity washed over her.

At that exact moment, the brass doorknob clicked loudly.

The heavy door swung open.

Dixon strolled into the room.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored, dark gray three-piece suit.

He had one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket, walking with the slow, arrogant stride of a king inspecting his territory.

Gretchen scrambled backward against the headboard like a cornered cat.

She yanked the thick duvet up to her chest.

"You actually brought me back to the estate?!"

She screamed, her voice hoarse.

"This is your legal residence, Mrs. Spencer."

Dixon stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at her with absolutely zero emotion on his face.

Gretchen crumpled the marriage certificate in her fist and hurled it at his chest.

"This is completely insane! I changed my mind. I am canceling this damn registration!"

The paper hit Dixon's expensive lapel and fluttered to the carpet.

He didn't even blink.

He slowly bent down and picked up the paper.

He casually brushed a speck of invisible dust off the corner.

"In the state of New York, an annulment requires proof of fraud or extreme duress."

He took a slow step forward.

He placed both hands on the edge of the mattress, leaning his upper body toward her.

He trapped her between his massive frame and the headboard.

"Do you really think a judge will believe that you forced me, or that I forced you?"

The heavy scent of cedar and cold tobacco rolled off his skin, suffocating her.

Gretchen felt the air thin out in her lungs.

"We signed a contract. I will pay the breach penalty!"

She spat the words through clenched teeth.

Dixon let out a low, dark chuckle, as if she had just told a hilarious joke.

"The penalty clauses grant me the absolute power to freeze every single corporate sponsorship funding your beloved ballet company."

His eyes locked onto hers, cold and merciless.

"Are you planning to watch your life's work go bankrupt overnight, or are you going to force your parents to sell their Manhattan apartment to cover your catastrophic legal fees?"

The words clamped around Gretchen's throat like an iron fist.

All the blood instantly drained from her face, leaving her skin chalk-white.

She bit down on her lower lip so hard it turned white.

Dixon stared at her pale face.

A tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of pain flashed deep in his gray-blue eyes.

But he instantly crushed it, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature.

"Put away the victim act."

He pushed off the bed and stood up straight, casually adjusting his silver cufflinks.

"You wanted revenge. I simply handed you the weapon."

He paced slowly toward the window.

"Stay here. Show your face to Barnett and that stray every single day. Disgust them. Remind them that you exist."

He turned back to face her, mapping out the war.

"At the same time, you will play the perfect wife in front of the old man. Help me take control of the board. Once it's done, I will give you the freedom you want."

Gretchen's rapid breathing slowly began to steady.

The panic faded, replaced by the cold, hard logic of survival.

She stared at the ruthless businessman standing across from her.

She had no way out.

"If I play along," Gretchen said, lifting her chin and straightening her spine.

The pride of a principal dancer returned to her eyes.

"What do I get out of this?"

"Aside from making Barnett's life a living hell?"

The corner of Dixon's mouth twitched upward in a satisfied smirk.

"The entire weight of the Spencer family's resources, at your disposal."

He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

He tossed it onto the soft duvet between her legs.

"Put it on. Come downstairs in ten minutes. Your ex-fiancé is currently enjoying his sweet, newlywed breakfast."

Dixon turned and walked toward the door.

Just as his hand touched the brass knob, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Don't disappoint me, partner."

He delivered the cold warning and pulled the door shut behind him.

The room fell into a dead silence.

Gretchen reached out and flipped open the velvet box.

Inside sat a flawless, five-carat pink diamond ring.

The facets caught the sunlight, blindingly bright.

She stared at the heavy stone for a long time.

Then, she slowly slid the cold metal onto her left ring finger.

A fierce, burning desire for war ignited in her chest.