Married To My Ex's Brother In-law

Aria

"Ma’am, you cannot go in there with… that."

The security guard was huge and stiff, standing there in a suit that cost more than my entire life, and looked at my old worn-out rolling suitcase with undisguised disdain.

One wheel was half broken, making a rhythmic thwack-squeak, thwack-squeak sound on the polished marble floor of the crystalline lobby.

"Watch me," I snapped, shoving the handle harder. The wheel squeaked in protest.

"Miss, this is the wedding of the decade. Delilah Hart and Jess Andrew. It is strictly invitation only. And there is a dress code."

His eyes narrowed over my worn jeans and the thin, beige t-shirt I’d bought in a three-pack five years ago.

"I don't want cake, you overgrown gargoyle. I want five minutes with the groom."

"The groom is preparing for the ceremony. If you don't leave, I'll have to physically remove you." He took a step forward, his hand twitching toward the earpiece coiled around his thick neck.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, my wolf wanted to attack but I wouldn't back down. I couldn't. If I should leave now, the silence in my bank account would swallow me whole.

The eviction notice pasted on the front door of my apartment this morning was burned into my retinas.

The voicemail from the pharmacy about my grandmother's heart medication, the one I couldn't afford to pick up, played on a loop in my head.

I didn't have time for dignity. I had negative three dollars and forty-two cents to my name.

"Tell Jess I'm here," I hissed, my voice tight with a mixture of fury and terrifying desperation.

"Tell him Aria is here, and unless he wants me to start screaming about what he did to me in front of the society pages' photographers out front, he'll see me."

The guard hesitated. The threat of a public scene at a Hart event was Kryptonite.

"Wait here," he growled, pointing a meaty finger at a spot on the floor.

The instant he turned his back to speak into his wrist, I moved.

It was stupid. It was suicidal. But adrenaline and sheer, unadulterated panic are a potent cocktail. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and bolted toward the gilded elevators.

I knew exactly where the groom’s suite was; I’d helped Jess plan half this wedding before he decided I wasn't good enough to attend it.

Before he decided four years of me building his career, warming his bed with rounds of sex, and believing his lies meant nothing compared to the Hart family fortune.

"Hey! Stop her!"

I slammed my hand against the 'Close Door' button, watching through the narrowing gap as three guards walked toward me.

The doors hissed shut just as a hand slapped the glass.

I sagged against the mirrored wall of the elevator, catching sight of myself. I looked deranged.

My hair was escaping its messy bun in frizzy tendrils, my eyes were red-rimmed from three days of crying, and my cheap t-shirt hung limply on my frame.

I looked exactly like what I was: the desperate ex-girlfriend crashing the royal wedding.

The elevator chimed on the top floor. The air up here smelled different-expensive. Like imported orchids, ancient money, and ozone.

I didn't hesitate. I marched down the plush cream hallway, the thwack-squeak sound of my suitcase echoing like a metronome counting down my humiliation. I reached the double mahogany doors of the groom’s suite and didn't bother knocking. I threw them open.

Jess was standing by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city skyline, adjusting the cuffs of a suit that probably cost more than my father’s outstanding gambling debts.

He looked pristine. Golden. Like a prince stepping out of a fairytale.

He turned, a brilliant smile frozen on his face, expecting his best man. The smile curdled when he saw me.

"Aria?" His voice was ice, smooth and detached. "What in God’s name are you doing here?

How did you get past security?"

I dragged my suitcase over the threshold and let the door slam shut behind me. "We need to talk, Jess."

He laughed, a short, incredulous puff of air. He checked his platinum watch. "I’m getting married in forty-five minutes to Delilah Hart. I don't have time for your melodrama."

"Melodrama?" My voice shook, and I hated it. I hated that he still had this effect on me, that my stomach twisted into knots just looking at his perfectly sculpted face.

"You fired me via text message, Jess. At midnight. Three days before my rent was due."

He turned back to the window, dismissing me. "My company is evolving, Aria. We’re merging with Hart Enterprises. I needed to trim the fat. Your position was… redundant."

"Redundant?" I stepped closer, leaving the suitcase by the door like an anchor tethering me to my pathetic reality. "I built your client list from scratch.

I wrote the proposal that got you the meeting with Grayson Hart in the first place. I did your work, Jess, while you were out 'networking' at bars."

He spun around, his eyes flashing with genuine irritation now. "Don't delude yourself. You were an assistant. You typed what I told you to type.

Any success I've achieved is because of my vision, my mentorship. You were lucky I kept you around as long as I did, considering your… background."

The sting of it almost took my breath away. My "background." The fact that my dad was a washed-up gambler and I’d clawed my way out of a trailer park.

He’d used that background to paint himself as my savior for four years.

"I loved you," I whispered, the fight momentarily draining out of me. "For four years, Jess. I thought we were partners."

He smoothed the lapel of his jacket, his expression bored. "We had fun, Aria. But let’s be real. You were never going to fit in this world. Delilah… Delilah is different.

She’s refined. She understands ambition."

"She understands having a billionaire brother," I retorted, the anger surging back, hot and sharp. "You’re marrying her bank account."

"Watch your mouth," he snapped, stepping closer, his cologne, a scent I used to bury my face in now sickeningly sweet.

"You’re trespassing. I could have you arrested."

"Then do it," I challenged, stepping right up to him, tilting my chin up. "At least in jail I’ll have a bed tonight.

Because thanks to you, I’m about to be on the street. Nana’s meds ran out yesterday, Jess. She’s going to get sick because you decided I was 'fat' to be trimmed."

I hated the pleading tone that crept into my voice.

I hated that I had to beg the man who broke my heart just to survive. "Please, Jess. I’m not asking for us back. I just need my job.

Or my severance. Anything. You owe me that much."

He stared down at me, his golden eyes devoid of any warmth I used to think I saw there. He looked at me not like a person, but like a stain on his otherwise perfect day.

Then, slowly, a corner of his mouth tilted up. It wasn't a nice smile. It was predatory.

"You need money that badly?" he asked softly.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes. I’m desperate, Jess. Please."

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sleek money clip stacked thick with hundred-dollar bills. My eyes tracked it involuntarily.

That stack of paper was Nana’s health. It was a roof over my head.

He tapped the clip against his palm thoughtfully. "You know, Aria, you were always… enthusiastic.

In certain areas." His eyes dropped to my chest, hidden beneath the baggy t-shirt, then lower.

My blood ran cold. The air in the room seemed to vanish. "What?"

He stepped closer, invading my space, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for me.

"Delilah is very… proper. It’s going to be a long honeymoon of missionary calls. I could use one last taste of something a little wilder before I commit myself to a life of virtue."

He held the money clip out between two fingers. "Five thousand. Right now. For a quick farewell sex in the bathroom."