I seduced the billionaire who ruined my brother's life. The moment he abandoned his fiancée for me, my revenge was complete. Everyone in Ashworth City had heard their story. Dominic Ashford and Serena Blackwell, the most twisted couple in the city's elite circle. Dominic Ashford was the sole heir to the Ashford empire, one of the most powerful billionaires in Ashworth City. Serena Blackwell was the crown jewel of the Blackwell dynasty, Ashworth City's princess. She and Dominic had grown up together, and everyone assumed they'd end up married. But they had a toxic game they liked to play. Every time they fought, Serena would find some unsuspecting, decent man and get engaged to him. She loved the thrill of it — watching those men fall for her. And she loved watching Dominic lose his mind with jealousy. Every time he showed up to wreck the wedding, it proved he was still hers. It was their sick version of a love language. Ninety-nine times. And the ninety-ninth groom was my twin brother, Ethan Mercer. He thought he'd found true love. He'd poured everything he had into planning the wedding — Only to have Dominic Ashford kick down the chapel door on his wedding day, break both his arms, strip him bare, and dump him in the street like garbage. My brother couldn't survive the humiliation. His mind shattered. On a rainy night, he dragged his broken body up the longest bridge in Ashworth City, one agonizing step at a time. And jumped. I was standing in the morgue, identifying his body, when my phone buzzed. It was Serena's latest IG story. Wedding crash #99 — success! Dominic really is crazy about me! One more to go and I can finally marry him for real! The photo showed her in a white gown, tucked against Dominic's chest, smiling like the world was hers. I looked down at my brother's stiff, frozen body. And I laughed. So this was how they played. Other people's hearts were disposable toys. Then this time — I'd bet my life to make them lose. I spent three months studying Dominic Ashford. His habits, his weaknesses, his obsession with Serena. I knew which club he went to every Thursday. I knew what kind of woman caught his eye. I carved a scar beside my own eye — ugly and jagged, but enough to mask the resemblance between me and Ethan. Three months later, I walked into the most exclusive private club in Ashworth City and got hired as a hostess. And just like I'd planned, I finally laid eyes on Dominic.
"Strip." Dominic sat deep in the sofa, spinning a blood-stained Swiss Army knife between his fingers. A handful of trust-fund boys lounged around him with girls draped over their arms, their eyes crawling over me with lazy amusement. I didn't move. Dominic raised an eyebrow. The knife came down and sank into the table. "You deaf?" "Didn't you say you needed money? Didn't you say you'd do anything for the right price?" "Serena's overseas getting ready for the wedding. Those dead eyes of yours remind me of the look she gets when she's ignoring me." Laughter broke out around the room. "She's a bit rough, boss, but that dead-inside energy? Definitely reminds me of Serena." "Boss is one wedding away from finishing the bet. While Serena's gone, this one could pass the time." I looked at Dominic. The knife was centimeters from my hand. I could even smell the dried blood on it. Then I lowered my head, clutched the hem of my skirt, and let my voice go small, looking every bit the helpless girl. "One million." Dominic paused. Then he burst out laughing. "One million?" "Bold mouth on you. You know what happened to the last person who tried to set terms with me?" "Though... something about your face looks familiar." His hand reached up and touched the corner of my eye. Right where I'd carved that scar — ugly, deliberate, just enough to bury any trace of the resemblance I shared with Ethan. He didn't recognize me. The plan held. The next second, a slap cracked across my face. "I do love the ones who'd sell their soul for a dollar." "Ten thousand per piece. Whether you walk out with a million depends on whether you last the night." Eyes circled me from every direction, hungry for a show. "Boss, I think you broke her. If she can't take it, this won't be any fun." "Then again, nobody holds a candle to his girl. That woman's got real nerve." Dominic stared at me, already losing interest. He was about to speak — But I pointed at the table full of liquor first. "How about a game instead?" "You lose, you drink. I lose, I cut myself." "Ten cuts for a million. Deal?" Every man in the room stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "Boss, does she know how you and Serena first met? Is she trying to pull the same move?" "Everyone knows you two hit it off over a drinking table. She's doing this on purpose while Serena's away — trying to play stand-in." Dominic studied me for a long time. Then he smiled. "Interesting." "That's real fucking interesting." I was yanked hard into his lap. The tip of the knife pressed against my cheek. "I'd hate to ruin a pretty face." "So tell me — besides money, what are you really here for?" I held his gaze steady. "What if I said I'm here for your heart?" Something flickered behind his eyes. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me upright. "You? A hostess?" "You're not even close to worthy." The force of it nearly tore my hair out. He dragged me across the table and bottles went crashing to the floor. Glass bit into my arms and blood seeped through instantly. Dominic's hand closed around my throat. He slammed me to the ground. "You like games?" "Then let's give everyone a real show tonight." That whole night was a blur of pain. They poured liquor down my throat until I choked. Dominic kicked me hard enough to crack my ribs. Cigarette burns dotted my arms, one after another — each one met with laughter or the click of someone's phone. Nobody told him to stop. When I was barely breathing, Dominic crouched down and asked if it hurt. I didn't answer. I just lay there with blood on my lips, staring straight at him. Something in Dominic shifted. "Serena..." His voice dropped to a murmur. The violence left his hands, replaced by something almost worse — a shaking, obsessive tenderness, like he was touching someone who wasn't there. "Why won't you ever listen to me? Why do you keep running to those worthless men just to get under my skin?" "Am I not enough? I'd give you my goddamn life. Why do you keep doing this to me?" He thought I was Serena. The woman he loved to the point of madness, and hated just as much. The first crack in his armor. I fought through the pain, raised a shaking hand, and gently stroked his hair. "I was wrong. I won't leave. I'll do whatever you say from now on." Those words — Serena Blackwell would never say them. Not in a million years. She was Ashworth City's princess, a rose made of razor wire. She didn't apologize. She didn't yield. She ground Dominic's dignity under her heel and watched him spiral. That's why those words cut straight through him. Dominic froze. Every muscle locked. The haze in his eyes shattered in an instant. He shoved me away. "Get out!" "You're a goddamn hostess. Who gave you permission?" His foot slammed into my stomach. I curled up on the floor, coughing blood. Through the blur I watched him rip off his tie and light a cigarette with unsteady hands. "Boring." He blew out a cloud of smoke and flicked a check at my face. "Take the money. Get yourself to a hospital." "Don't die here. I don't need that mess." I clutched the blood-soaked check against my chest. And smiled without a sound.
I spent a week in the hospital. Dominic never showed up once. But he sent over boxes of high-end nutrition kits, along with a message: "Once you can stand, drag yourself to the estate. You wanted money — here's your chance." "Once Serena's hundredth wedding game is done. After that, you're out of uses. So don't waste my time." I stared at those expensive packages and dumped them all into the trash without blinking. These two psychopaths treated crashing weddings like a game and other people's dignity like a punchline. The ninety-ninth victim had been my brother. What he only got instead was Dominic's fists and a public humiliation. And Serena? She had stood in her white bridal gown, nestled in Dominic's arms, laughing. "Ugh, this groom is so boring. Didn't even put up a fight." "Dominic, don't go too hard — don't kill him. I still need him for my IG story." That rainy night, my brother had dragged his broken arm up the longest bridge in Ashworth City, one agonizing step at a time. And jumped. I closed my eyes and forced the tears back down. ...... When I arrived at Dominic's private estate, I had changed everything about my appearance. A white cotton dress. Hair down. No makeup. This was what Serena Blackwell had looked like at eighteen. I'd studied every old photo of hers, every habit, every version of her smile. I knew how she used to walk, how she'd tilt her head, how she'd brush hair from her face without thinking. The moment Dominic saw me, the glass in his hand hit the floor. Shards scattered everywhere. A piece sliced across the back of his hand, but he didn't notice. He stared at me, and his eyes went red in an instant. "Ser... Serena?" I stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of my skirt, looking up at him with wide, timid eyes. "Mr. Ashford, it's me. Ellie." Dominic kept me. Not as a punching bag anymore — as a proper stand-in. He stopped letting me wear cheap clothes. He had an entire wardrobe made up for me, every piece styled exactly the way Serena used to dress. He stopped hitting me. He even started putting food on my plate at dinner, clumsy and a little awkward about it. "Serena used to love blueberry pancakes." "The way she ate — cheeks all puffed out, like a little squirrel. Cutest damn thing." "But then she changed." "She started smoking. Drinking. Flirting with every man who looked her way." "She called it fun. Said it kept things exciting." "I hated it. I just wanted the old Serena back. The clean, simple version of her." I swallowed a bite of that sickeningly sweet pancake and nodded like a good girl. "Whatever Mr. Ashford likes, I'll learn." Dominic smiled, satisfied, and patted my head. "Good girl." ...... Days passed like that, one after another. I played the perfect gentle girl, chipping away at Dominic's walls one sliver at a time. Until one day. I was cleaning his study when I bumped the mouse by accident. The screen lit up. An encrypted folder sat in the center of the desktop. My fingers hovered over the keys. On impulse, I typed in Serena's birthday. Part of me already knew what I'd find. It opened. Ninety-nine videos. Each one starring a different man. Some had been stripped naked and thrown into the street. Some had been forced to drink their own piss. Some had their limbs snapped and were left crawling on the ground like worms. These were Serena's trophies. Medals she used to prove how far Dominic would go for her. My hands were shaking as I clicked on the latest one.
It was Ethan. In the video, my brother was on his knees with blood streaming down his face, bowing over and over, forehead slamming the concrete. "Please — I'm begging you — let me go. I was wrong. I should never have gone near Miss Blackwell..." Dominic's foot came down on his face and ground it into the floor. He was laughing. "You think you're worthy? You think Serena is someone a nobody like you gets to want?" "Since these arms touched someone they shouldn't have — you don't need them anymore." The camera shook hard. Then came my brother's scream — raw, animal, the kind of sound that doesn't leave your head. The last thing on the video was Serena's voice, off-screen. "God, Dominic, that was so hot! Love you! That's number ninety-nine — next one better top this!" I closed the video. I pulled a bottle of pills from my pocket, shook a handful into my mouth, and chewed them dry. Antidepressants. My doctor had told me that stopping them cold could make things spiral — violent episodes, possible psychotic breaks. I didn't care anymore. ...... The next morning, Dominic was dressed to the nines, ready to go crash Serena's hundredth wedding. I blocked the doorway with my arms spread wide, eyes red and swollen. Dominic shoved me aside with one hand. I fell — and as I hit the floor, something spilled out from inside my clothes. Dozens of photographs, scattered all over the ground. I'd spent a fortune collecting them before I ever set foot in this city. His foot was already mid-swing toward my ribs. It froze in the air. He stared at the photos like they'd burned him. The photos were all of him. On a basketball court, jersey dark with sweat. Asleep in a library corner, cheek pressed against a bookshelf. At a restaurant, arms thrown around his friends, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world. A younger Dominic. Bright, alive, full of fire. Not the twisted, hollowed-out thing he'd become — the kind of man who got off on breaking people. Dominic bent down slowly and picked up one of the photos. His eighteenth birthday. Frosting smeared across his face, eyes squeezed shut in a grin. "Where did you get these?" I scrambled to grab them back, tears pouring down. "Give them back! Don't look at those!" "These are all I have left of you. Don't you dare take them." "So you didn't come to me for money?" Something shifted in his expression — something I couldn't read. "Dominic, I just had a crush on you, that's all! Why is it always Serena? Why can't you ever see me?" "You came because... you're in love with me?" I didn't answer. And as it turned out — he didn't make it to Serena's wedding that night. Dominic didn't say a word. He just looked at me like he was seeing someone for the very first time. Then he kissed me. Not rough. Not possessive. I didn't push him away. His fingers threaded through my hair and slowly tightened. His breath turned hot and uneven, trailing from my ear down the side of my neck. He pressed me into the couch cushions, and his full weight followed. Shirt buttons came apart — the metallic sound cut through the silence like a blade. His mouth burned against my skin — the kind of heat you don't pull away from. My fingers dug into the edge of the sofa. My body was shaking. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Not from desire. From hatred so thick it nearly strangled me. His palm traced up along my waist, heat bleeding through the thin cotton of my dress. He whispered against my throat. Not Serena. Ellie. I opened my eyes and met his bloodshot gaze. Hunger. Greed. Pathetic. The same hands that had crushed my brother into the pavement were trembling on my body now. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder. Later — in bed. Then against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Moonlight poured in, casting our tangled shadows across the glass. He called my name over and over. Ellie. Ellie. Like a man in prayer. And I closed my eyes, silently mouthing my brother's name. Ethan. I'm here for you.
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