Married To My Toxic Ex-Boyfriend's Brother

Eleanore's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke, but the sharp sting barely registered over the roaring in her ears. She shoved past a group of laughing socialites in the Plaza Hotel ballroom, her vision blurring at the edges. The heat started in her stomach, a thick, unnatural warmth that was rapidly spreading outward, turning her blood into liquid fire. She stumbled, her heel catching on the thick carpet. A waiter holding a tray of champagne stepped into her path. She violently swerved to avoid him, her shoulder colliding hard with a marble pillar. Ten minutes. It had only been ten minutes since Johan handed her that sparkling water with his signature, possessive smile. The realization hit her like a physical blow to the chest. "Eleanore!" Johan's voice cut through the jazz music from across the room. It wasn't a call; it was a command. Panic seized her throat, choking off her oxygen. She pushed through the heavy side doors, escaping the suffocating noise of the banquet and stumbling into the dimly lit VIP hallway. The cold air-conditioning hit her flushed skin, but it did nothing to stop the relentless burning inside her veins. She reached the end of the corridor. A yellow maintenance sign blocked the elevator. She spun around, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She grabbed the brass handle of the nearest guest room door. Locked. She yanked the next one. Locked. The sound of the ballroom doors opening echoed down the hall. Johan was coming. She desperately twisted the brass handle of the presidential suite at the very end of the hall. To her shock, it wasn't fully engaged-perhaps a maid had just stepped out. She threw her weight against the heavy double doors, and the unlatched wood gave way. She practically fell inside, her knees hitting the thick, hand-woven wool rug. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, the automatic lock engaging with a solid thud. She was trapped. Eleanore stayed on her hands and knees, her chest heaving as she tried to pull air into her burning lungs. The room was dark, illuminated only by a single floor lamp in the corner. Then, she heard the clink of ice against glass. She jerked her head up. A massive silhouette sat in the center of the leather sofa. Alexander Briggs set his whiskey glass down on the mahogany table. The sharp sound echoed in the quiet room. He leaned forward, the dim light catching the sharp, ruthless angles of his jaw. He looked down at her, his expression entirely unreadable. Eleanore's stomach plummeted. She knew that face. It was plastered across the front page of the Wall Street Journal almost weekly. He was a corporate butcher. She instinctively scrambled backward, but her limbs felt like lead. The drug was pulling her under. Alexander stood up. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator. He crossed the room, his expensive leather shoes stopping mere inches from her trembling fingers. The sheer physical presence of the man sucked the remaining oxygen from the room. He crouched down. His large, rough thumb and forefinger clamped around her burning jaw, forcing her head up. "Please," Eleanore whispered, her voice cracking. A fresh wave of unnatural heat surged up her spine, threatening to snap her consciousness in half. She bit down on her lower lip until she tasted copper, using the sharp spike of pain to desperately try and anchor her mind. "Call an ambulance." A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Alexander's chest. He moved his thumb, slowly wiping the drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. "By the time an ambulance gets through Manhattan traffic, sweetheart, you'll be tearing your own clothes off." Outside the door, heavy footsteps approached. "Where is she?" Johan's voice was muffled but furious. "Check the doors!" Eleanore's entire body violently shuddered. Pure, unadulterated terror iced over her veins. Without thinking, her hand shot out, her fingers twisting desperately into the fabric of Alexander's suit jacket. Alexander looked down at her white-knuckled grip on his clothes. A dark, dangerous gleam flashed in his eyes. His thumb subtly grazed the face of his custom Patek Philippe watch, pressing a concealed panic button twice. Before she could process his movement, his arms went under her knees and behind her back. He lifted her off the floor effortlessly. Eleanore gasped, her face pressing into his chest. The sharp, clean scent of cedarwood and raw male pheromones engulfed her senses, clashing violently with the drug in her system. The heat inside her spiked to an unbearable degree. He dropped her onto the wide leather sofa, immediately caging her in with his arms on either side of her head. "I can be your antidote," Alexander murmured, his breath brushing against her lips. "But it's going to cost you." The door handle rattled violently. "Eleanore! Open this damn door!" Johan screamed, slamming his fist against the wood. The sound of Johan's voice broke the last thread of Eleanore's sanity. She couldn't let Johan take her. She would rather die. Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks. She reached up, her trembling hands wrapping around the thick column of Alexander's neck, and pulled him down. She pressed her lips to his. It was clumsy, desperate, and driven by pure fear. Alexander's body went completely rigid for a fraction of a second. Then, his breathing turned ragged. He took over. His large hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place as his mouth devoured hers. It was a punishing, invasive kiss that sent a shockwave of electricity straight to her core. He shifted his weight, his large body covering hers entirely, making the scene look undeniably intimate. A loud beep echoed through the room. The hotel manager had used the master key. The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Johan stormed in, flanked by two bodyguards. Johan froze. His eyes locked onto the sofa. The veins in his neck bulged instantly. "Get off her!" Johan roared, the sound ripping from his throat like a wounded animal. Alexander slowly pulled back from Eleanore's lips. He didn't look panicked. He didn't even look surprised. He calmly reached down, pulling the edges of his suit jacket tightly around Eleanore's bare shoulders, shielding her flushed skin from the doorway. Johan lunged forward, his hand reaching out to grab Eleanore's arm. Alexander didn't even stand up. He simply shifted his weight and drove his heavy dress shoe directly into Johan's kneecap. Johan let out a sharp cry of pain, stumbling backward and crashing into the coffee table. "You touched my woman!" Johan screamed, his face red with manic fury. Guests from the hallway were already gathering at the door, their eyes wide, whispering frantically. Before Alexander even had to move, a shadow detached itself from the hallway, having been silently summoned moments prior. L. Thorne, Alexander's head of security, stepped into the room. Alexander stood up. He slowly adjusted his cuffs, his movements precise and terrifyingly calm. He looked at Johan, then at the crowd, his gaze holding the absolute authority of a king surveying his subjects. "Watch your mouth, Conway," Alexander's voice was deadly quiet, yet it carried through the entire room. "You are speaking to my future wife."