It was supposed to be a joyous occasion, the glittering climax of my engagement dinner. Then Jace, my fiancée’s adopted younger brother, abruptly snatched my phone right out of my hand. Before I could even register the violation, he hit accept on an incoming call and, with a flick of his thumb, put it on speaker. A woman’s voice, dripping with synthetic sweetness, echoed through the ballroom: “What’s your rate for the whole night?” The clinking of champagne flutes stopped. The low hum of conversation vanished. The silence in the room was absolute, the kind of heavy, suffocating quiet that precedes a car crash. Every eye in that banquet hall swiveled toward me, pinning me to the spot like searchlights. Jace, however, acted like we were in a sitcom. He flashed a lazy, impish grin at his sister. "Damn, Pat. I just posted his picture five minutes ago and the inquiries are already rolling in. Better keep a tight leash on this one." My face flushed with a violent, glacial rage. But Patricia just waved a dismissive hand, a light, airy gesture. "Oh, it’s just kids messing around. Don't take it so seriously." Jace was practically vibrating with smugness. "I gotta admit, I picked a hell of a photo. It’s prime advertising." Right on cue, the massive digital screen at the front of the hall—the one that had been displaying our monogrammed initials—flickered. An advertisement replaced it. It was a photo Patricia had coaxed me into taking last night, lying in bed wearing nothing but a pair of suggestive briefs. Next to my half-naked body, my name and personal cell phone number were printed in bold, undeniable text. But it was the bright red, flashing slogan beneath it that made my blood run cold: "PREMIUM ESCORT. AVAILABLE FOR HOUSE CALLS. GUARANTEED SATISFACTION." …………… 1 My knuckles turned bone-white as my vision locked onto the massive screen. In the intimate, moody lighting of the bedroom backdrop, my body took up nearly the entire frame. The word "Escort" burned into my retinas, a brand searing my flesh. All around me, the guests—Patricia’s family, her wealthy social circle—were looking at me. Their stares weren't just judgmental; they were scorching, peeling away my dignity strip by strip. It felt like being flayed alive in a tailored suit. And yet, it was Patricia’s parents who stepped forward to break the tension. Not to defend me, but to manage the optics. "Gideon, take a breath..." Mr. Hastings offered a placating, entirely empty smile. "You know how Jace is. We’ve spoiled him rotten. He’s a bit impulsive, a little reckless, but there's not a malicious bone in his body." A chorus of aunts and uncles immediately chimed in, a well-rehearsed symphony of gaslighting. "Exactly! It’s just a prank between boys." "You’re about to be his brother-in-law. You're not actually going to hold a grudge against your little brother, are you?" A prank. A laugh scraped the back of my throat, cold and sharp as shattered glass. Broadcasting an intimate photo to a room full of elites, branding me a rent-a-boy—this was a prank? Patricia finally caught the absolute zero temperature in my eyes, and a flicker of panic crossed her perfect face. She stepped forward quickly, reaching for my wrist, desperate to just shove the platinum engagement ring onto my finger and seal the deal. I violently jerked my hand away. That single movement was enough to set Jace off. He shot up from his chair, his voice rough and laced with an ugly, entitled arrogance. "Who the hell are you giving attitude to? You're marrying into our family. You're signing on to be a Hastings kept man. Don't we have the right to inspect the merchandise?" He jutted his chin toward the screen. "Putting it online is just market research. Let's see if any of your old sugar mamas come calling." He paused, letting out a dark, mocking snort. "I mean, maybe you weren't actually in the business before... but considering how popular you are with women, who's to say you won't be in the future?" My lungs felt like they were expanding with pure, combustive fury. I took a slow, deliberate step toward him, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "...So, that gives you the right to fabricate rumors and humiliate me in front of my future family?" Faced with the sheer gravity of my anger, Jace’s bravado faltered. The color drained slightly from his cheeks. But Patricia—my supposed partner, the woman who was supposed to stand by my side—stepped right in front of him, shielding him with her own body. "Gideon, what are you doing?" "This is our engagement party. Do you really have to blow this out of proportion and make us a laughingstock?" Safely tucked behind her shoulder, Jace’s eyes gleamed with a cowardly, triumphant malice. He was the fox using the tiger's might. "My sister is the one doing you a favor by marrying you," Jace sneered. "And she hasn't dumped your ass yet. If she doesn't care, why are you throwing a tantrum?" Looking at the two of them—the united front of siblings, the enabling parents, the murmuring relatives—a profound, sickening clarity washed over me. This whole family was playing me. They were breaking me down, testing my compliance. Seeing my silence, Patricia assumed I had backed down. Her tone softened, dropping into that practiced, placating register. She reached for my hand again. "Gideon, I know Jace came up with the idea, but I'm the one who gave him the photo. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Let's just get through the ceremony. You'll have the rest of our lives to be mad at me in private." I took a slow, jagged breath, looking at her face as if I were looking at a stranger. I had known Patricia Hastings for twelve years. Only in this exact second did I realize how terrifyingly a person could change. My mind flashed back to our sophomore year of high school. I was a competitive swimmer back then, tall and built differently than the other boys. Girls who had been rejected by me would retaliate out of spite. They used to sneak photos of my chest and abs during gym class, spreading disgusting, hyper-sexualized rumors about me through the locker rooms. Patricia had been my fierce protector. She didn't care what names they called her; she would march right up to those girls, screaming in their faces until they apologized to me in public. I remembered feeling terrible that she was taking the heat for me. But she had just smiled, a bright, unwavering light. "I'm fine, Gideon. A guy's reputation matters too. Taking a few insults for you is nothing." Now, staring at the humiliating billboard glowing above us, that memory felt like a cruel, sick joke. 2 If I was being honest with myself, the warning signs regarding Jace’s bizarre hostility had been there for a long time. The first time I formally met him was when Patricia brought him and some friends out for my birthday dinner. I had dressed up, feeling good about myself. Before the appetizers even hit the table, Jace was taking passive-aggressive shots at me. He looked at my styled hair and tailored shirt and sneered, saying I looked plastic, like a textbook gold-digger just waiting to bleed a rich woman dry. My face had fallen instantly. But Patricia had just rubbed my arm under the table. He’s just blunt, Gideon. He doesn't mean anything by it. He's just a kid, don't let him get to you. Later that night, the waiter brought out the custom cake Patricia had ordered. As it was placed in front of me, Jace laughed, said he was going to help me "take off my makeup," and shoved my face violently into the frosting. As I sat there, humiliated, wiping cake and icing from my burning eyes, he had put on this wide-eyed, innocent act. "Oh, come on, Gideon, it's just a joke! Even Pat knows I didn't mean anything bad by it. You're not actually mad, right?" From that moment, I knew her adopted brother was poisonous. But Patricia was always the mediator, always blurring the lines, begging me to just let it go for her sake. And she was doing it again right now. Seeing that I was still frozen, refusing to take the ring, Patricia’s voice took on a strained, patronizing edge. "Gideon, okay, the joke went a little too far. When the party is over, I'll make him give you a proper apology, alright?" "Just be the bigger person. Don't stoop to his level." A dry laugh echoed in my chest. He had publicly degraded me in the worst way imaginable, and a forced "sorry" behind closed doors was supposed to fix it? Seeing Patricia firmly in his corner, Jace’s lips curled into a smug little smirk. "It's just a photoshopped ad, man. What's the big deal? I'll delete it from the website right now, happy?" He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. Before he could swipe, I lunged forward. My hand clamped around his wrist like a vise, and I ripped the phone from his grip. "Delete it? Why would I let you do that? This is evidence. You trying to destroy evidence, Jace?" The blood vanished from Jace’s face, leaving him a sickly, terrifying pale. He stammered, "W-what evidence? Are you seriously thinking about calling the cops on me?" Patricia lunged at me, clawing desperately at my hand to get the phone back. "Gideon, have you lost your mind?! Over a stupid little prank, you're going to involve the police?!" Looking at her contorted, desperate face, I searched for even a fraction of the love she claimed to have for me. There was nothing. Just cold, hostile defense of her brother. "I used to think you were gentle. Empathetic," she hissed, her voice dropping so only I could hear. "I didn't expect you to try and establish dominance over my family on day one. Jace is my brother, and you want to send him to jail? When did you become so vindictive?" Jace’s eyes flashed with a sick thrill of victory, but he immediately weaponized his victimhood, tugging pitifully at Patricia’s sleeve. "Pat, don't. It's your special night. I don't want you guys fighting because of me." The manipulation worked instantly. Patricia looked at him with profound sympathy. "You're too good to him, Jace." She turned her glare back to me. "But if I give an inch tonight, you'll take a mile tomorrow. My mom was right. You can't spoil a man who's marrying into your money. Give him a little grace, and he thinks he runs the house." With every syllable she spat at me, my heart sank further into a bottomless, freezing abyss. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. She was right about one thing. If I backed down tonight, the abuse would never, ever end. 3 Just then, a commotion erupted at the heavy mahogany doors of the banquet hall. My best friend and business partner, Wyatt, burst into the room. He had brought a whole crew to celebrate. But the second he crossed the threshold and saw the massive, degrading billboard glowing on the screen, he froze. Wyatt was old money, a wildly unapologetic trust-fund kid whose older sister ran one of the most ruthless private equity firms on the East Coast. Wyatt didn't take shit from anyone. He exploded instantly, his voice cracking like a whip across the silent room. "What the hell is this?!" "Who's fucking with Gideon at his own engagement party?! Step forward right now, I swear to God!" We had started a design studio together right out of college. For tonight, Wyatt had dropped a twenty-thousand-dollar check on the gift table just to make sure the Hastings family knew I had backing. I grabbed Wyatt’s arm before he could start throwing punches. My face was pale, but my voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm fine. Don't swing," I whispered. "Just... do me a favor. Text your sister. Ask her if what she said to me three months ago is still on the table." Wyatt blinked, stunned for a microsecond, before a fierce, predatory grin spread across his face. He nodded hard. "Done. And don't worry, man. Nobody in this room is touching you tonight." He pulled out his phone and made a single, terse call. Less than ten minutes later, a fleet of black Escalades idled outside the hotel doors. A wall of men in tailored black suits entered, forming a barrier around Wyatt and me, escorting us out. Patricia tried to push through, her face frantic, but the security detail didn't even let her get within five feet of me. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a barrage of texts from her. Gideon, are you done throwing your tantrum? Twelve years, and you're just walking away? Do you really have to make this so ugly over a misunderstanding? My brother made a bad joke! Why are you acting like a psycho over it?! She kept using that word. Brother. As if on cue, a new text thread popped up. It was Jace. He sent me over a dozen photos in rapid succession. Some were of him and Patricia in the Hastings' private pool, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, her body pressed flush against his. Others were selfies on the couch, their heads resting against each other, looking flushed and entirely too intimate. The last file was a video. I clicked play. In it, Jace pulled Patricia into his lap. He kissed her—not a peck, but a deep, desperate kiss. Patricia stiffened for a second, but then, softly, she kissed him back. When she yielded, Jace groaned, kissing her harder, his hands gripping her hips. His voice was a pathetic, needy whisper. "Pat... do you really have to marry him? You know you love me. You know you do." Patricia shuddered, closing her eyes tightly. "Jace, we were kids. We didn't know better. But we're older now. We can't do this anymore. Gideon will be a good husband... and you... you can only ever be my brother." Watching them tangle together on the screen, acid rose in my throat. I genuinely wanted to vomit. Jace followed the video with a voice note, his tone a mix of toxic triumph and hysterical venom. "Did you see that, Gideon? She loves me. If you don't want a marriage where I'm a ghost haunting your bedroom every single night, then back the fuck off. Because if you stay... tonight was just a warm-up." When I didn't reply to Patricia's frantic texts, she finally lost her patience. The pleading turned into a threat. "Three days, Gideon. We are re-doing the ceremony at The Grand Astoria in three days." "If you want to keep acting like a child by then... fine. But your reputation is already in the gutter. Let's see who else would ever want you now." 4 What Patricia didn't know was that exactly three seconds after her threat came through, another text arrived. It was from Margot. Wyatt’s older sister. She was currently on a business trip in London. The text contained a screenshot of a first-class itinerary back to New York, and a single sentence: "The wedding proceeds. Wait for me." For the next two days, I ghosted Patricia entirely. Meanwhile, the photoshopped ad Jace had made spread like a virus across local forums and social media. The comments were vile. "Eighteen hundred for that? Escorts really overvaluing themselves these days." "Probably photoshopped to hell. Guarantee you the guy showing up is a 300-pound creep." "Way too expensive for used goods." Patricia finally tracked me down at my studio. She looked exhausted but smug. "Just marry me, Gideon. Do it, and I swear on my life I'll have PR wipe every trace of this from the internet by tomorrow morning." I looked at her. I searched her eyes, her posture, the tilt of her chin. I couldn't find a single trace of the girl who had defended me in the high school hallways. It took me a long time to speak. "Do you remember what you told me back then?" I asked quietly. "You said a man's reputation matters too. You knew how much that hurt me. Why would you let him do this to me? Why would you help him?" For a second, Patricia was speechless. A flash of genuine shame flickered in her eyes, or maybe it was just guilt at being caught. I didn't wait for her to formulate an excuse. "Don't worry," I said, my voice dead flat. "The wedding at The Grand Astoria is happening tomorrow. Right on schedule." Just not with you, I added in my head. Patricia totally missed the ice in my eyes. She only heard the compliance. She exhaled a massive sigh of relief, reaching out to touch my arm. "I knew it. I knew you'd be reasonable, Gideon. Don't worry, I'll make Jace scrub the internet right now. Once we're officially married, I'll have him apologize to your face." Before she left, she promised me, over and over, how good she was going to treat me once we were husband and wife. I gave her empty nods until she finally left to finalize the catering. On the third day, my black car pulled up to the grand entrance of The Grand Astoria. I stepped out wearing a brand-new, impeccably tailored black Tom Ford tuxedo. When I looked up, the entire Hastings family was waiting by the valet, looking stressed and irritated. Jace's eyes dragged up and down my suit. He let out a loud, mocking laugh. "I heard you telling your college buddies you broke off the engagement. And yet here you are, wearing a suit that costs more than your car, just for a make-up dinner? Talk a big game, but you still came running like a good little dog." Patricia's face darkened, and she gave Jace a performative, half-hearted scolding. "Enough, Jace. I told you to show him some respect." She reached out to grab my arm, but I sidestepped her smoothly, leaving her grasping at empty air. I ignored the whole family, walking straight past them through the revolving doors. Compared to the opulence of the first banquet, this setup was pathetic. They had secured a twenty-square-foot partition in the hotel's discounted overflow lobby. Three or four sparse tables were set up. A handful of confused, bored relatives stood around awkwardly. Patricia coughed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but immediately shifted the blame to me. "Well, you ruined the first one. All the guests went home. Did you really expect my parents to shell out another fifty grand to rent the main hall?" She reached for me again. "It's just a formality anyway. We just need to go through the motions. I promise I'll make it up to you later." At that exact moment, the heavy brass doors of the hotel’s VIP wing swung open. A procession of staff, event coordinators, and security poured out. Outside, a line of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys pulled up seamlessly to the curb. And at the center of it all was Margot. She wore an architectural, sweeping white gown that looked like modern armor. She was stunning, sharp-edged, and entirely in control. Catching Patricia reaching for me, Margot’s perfectly sculpted brow twitched. She didn't even have to speak; she just gave a micro-glance to her detail. The men in suits immediately surged forward, forming an impenetrable physical wall between me and the Hastings family. Margot stopped a few feet away and held out her hand. I closed the distance, a genuine smile breaking across my face, and took the boutonnière she offered me. Patricia stood frozen in absolute shock. Then, reality snapped into place, and she lost her mind. "Gideon! You are my fiancé! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Before she could take another step, two of Margot's security guards forced her down, twisting her arms expertly behind her back to keep her immobilized. Margot looked down at her, a low, melodic laugh escaping her lips. "Your fiancé? Please. Do you honestly think a piece of trash like you gets to lay claim to my husband?"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "432245", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel