He Forgot Me, I Married His Brother

Gretchen stood under the freezing spray of the shower until her skin turned numb.

She stepped out and opened the massive oak wardrobe in the guest room.

Inside hung a row of brand-new, perfectly tailored Chanel suits.

She slipped into a sharp black blazer and skirt, the fabric hugging her curves flawlessly.

She slid her feet into a pair of black stilettos.

She pulled her shoulders back, keeping her spine perfectly straight.

Like a queen stepping onto a bloody battlefield, she walked out of the room.

She descended the grand, carpeted spiral staircase of the estate.

Just as she reached the landing of the first floor, she turned the corner.

She nearly collided with Barnett, who was walking toward the wine cellar.

Barnett stopped dead in his tracks.

The moment his eyes landed on her, the calm expression on his face shattered, replaced by a thick layer of frost.

Gretchen's heart gave a violent, involuntary squeeze.

She dug her fingernails into her palms and forced her lips into a flawless, plastic smile.

"Good morning, Barnett."

She spoke first, her voice crisp and entirely steady.

Barnett did not return the greeting.

He looked her up and down with a gaze dripping with absolute revulsion.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

He pulled out a folded legal document and slammed it down onto the antique side table next to them.

"This is a warning letter for a Restraining Order. My lawyers drafted it overnight."

Barnett's voice was devoid of any human warmth.

The fake smile on Gretchen's face stiffened.

Her eyes dropped to the glaring black text on the paper.

"I don't know how you snuck past the gates into this estate," Barnett said, taking a threatening step toward her.

"But you will pack your things and get the hell out. Now."

He leaned closer, his jaw tight.

"Do not try to use your fabricated lies about our past to ruin my marriage. Women like you, desperate to climb into wealth, make me sick."

Every word was a poisoned dagger straight to her chest.

A wave of dizzying nausea hit Gretchen.

Six years of deep, passionate love had just been reduced to a gold-digger's lie.

Before she could speak, the soft patter of bare feet echoed down the hall.

Joslyn appeared at the end of the corridor.

She was wearing an oversized men's dress shirt-clearly Barnett's-that hung loosely off her small shoulders.

"Barnett? Is everything okay?"

Joslyn rubbed her eyes, looking like a terrified little rabbit as she scurried over to Barnett's side.

Barnett instantly dropped his aggressive posture.

He reached out and wrapped a protective arm around Joslyn's waist, pulling her close.

"It's nothing. Just a crazy woman who doesn't matter."

Joslyn buried her face in Barnett's chest.

But as she peeked out, she shot Gretchen a look filled with arrogant provocation and victory.

That single look acted like a match dropped into a pool of gasoline.

The suffocating pain in Gretchen's chest evaporated.

It was instantly replaced by a raging, violent need to win.

Gretchen let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

She raised her left hand, making sure the five-carat pink diamond caught the hallway lights.

She reached out, picked up the restraining order from the table, and ripped it straight down the middle.

The loud, crisp sound of tearing paper echoed off the walls.

Barnett's forehead creased deeply.

"You have a death wish, Miss Valentine."

"It's Mrs. Spencer."

Gretchen corrected him smoothly.

She tossed the torn halves of the legal document into the air, letting the pieces flutter to the floor like snow.

She leaned forward, staring directly into Barnett's shocked eyes.

"Or, if you prefer, you can call me... sister-in-law."

The words detonated in the narrow hallway like a bomb.

Barnett's pupils violently contracted.

His face twisted in absolute disbelief.

Joslyn sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

The smug look on her face shattered, her skin turning a sickly, pale white.

"You will not use this insane excuse to stay in my house!"

Barnett roared, the veins bulging against the skin of his neck.

"Whether it's insane or not, you can go ask your dear brother."

Gretchen watched their faces fall apart, a dark, twisted thrill of revenge warming her blood.

She stepped around the two frozen figures.

Her stilettos clicked sharply against the hardwood floor.

"Oh, by the way," Gretchen stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

Her eyes landed on the oversized shirt Joslyn was wearing.

"That shirt is custom-made. I flew with him to Milan three years ago to pick the fabric."

She offered a pitying smile.

"You look like a clown playing dress-up in adult clothes."

Before the humiliated tears could spill from Joslyn's eyes, Gretchen turned her back.

She walked toward the dining room without a single ounce of hesitation, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.