Marrying My Divorced Husband's Uncle as Revenge

I still remember the day I married Brendon. I wasn’t supposed to be his bride; I was only there as maid of honor, standing beside my sister Karylle. She was the one chosen for him in our parents’ business deal. But the second she heard “arranged marriage,” she vanished, thinking Brendon was some older man they’d picked out for her.

I was left in her place, confused and stunned, the one expected to carry out the agreement. I didn’t know what else to do but accept. And for a while, I convinced myself that this life—a life Karylle didn’t want—could work. Despite the empty start, Brendon and I were content, even happy, in the early years. We worked side by side, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, we’d built something real.

But when Karylle learned who Brendon really was—a powerful, wealthy man who commanded respect—she came back, smug and determined to reclaim what she called her “rightful place.” And Brendon let her. He let her return and treat me like an intruder, never once stepping in, never once defending me.

“You’re living my life, Jasmine,” she’d said, her voice dripping with mock pity. “I’m just taking back what’s mine.”

I’d looked to Brendon, hoping he’d deny it, tell her she was wrong, that he wanted me. But he’d only sighed, dismissing my feelings like they were a burden. “Karylle’s family,” he’d said flatly, “and I can’t just turn her away.”

A part of me shattered that day, but I’d kept silent, even as I watched the man I loved drift back to my sister, who hadn’t hesitated to abandon him in the first place.

I snapped back to reality, the memories of my wedding day fading as I turned to walk away, intent on leaving this life behind. But before I could take more than a few steps, Brendon’s hand clamped firmly around my wrist, pulling me back.

“You’re not getting a divorce,” he said, his voice steely, each word clipped with finality.

I tried to yank my arm free, but his grip held fast. “Why not, Brendon? You don’t love me. This marriage was nothing but a business deal, remember? So let me go! I have nothing in this marriage anymore.”

His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get to make that decision, Jasmine. This marriage isn’t over until I say it is.”

I laughed bitterly, the resentment spilling over. “So that’s all I’ve ever been to you—a contract. Something you think you own.”

His eyes glinted with anger, his voice dropping lower. “You ask for a divorce, Jasmine, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Maybe I’ll pull the plug on your precious son’s treatment.”

He said it so casually, as if the words cost him nothing, his gaze sharp, taunting.

A chill swept through me, but I kept my expression steady, matching his coldness. “Go on, Brendon. Stop his medication. See if I care.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing, testing me. When I didn’t waver, he pulled out his phone, his gaze fixed on me as he dialed. He held the phone to his ear, his voice dark. “I don’t think you know how serious I am, Jasmine.”

He put the call on speaker, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. After a moment, a voice crackled on the line.

“Mr. Green?” It was his assistant, Chris, speaking cautiously.

“Find out where Jasmine’s son is receiving treatment and cut it off,” Brendon ordered, his tone clipped. “End it.”

Chris’ voice faltered, the hesitation evident. “Mr. Green… Allen passed away,” he said, his voice heavy. “The day after you left for that trip with Miss Karylle.”