Not His Brother's Fool

Not His Brother's Fool

Gavin

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Ethan Scott promised me a Texas-sized wedding, then drove off with a greasy-haired woman he called his "business partner," leaving me pregnant with his brother Caleb's child. I married Caleb, secured, and settled into our new life on the outskirts of town, far from the Scotts. A year later, Ethan and his mistress, Tara, rolled back in, broke and bitter, expecting to find me forlorn-instead they found me heavily pregnant on the porch. Tara, with a sneer, convinced Ethan I was a conniving gold-digger, trying to pass off another man' s child as his. Fueled by her lies, Ethan, his own brother, lunged at me, pushing our mother aside before dragging me into the dusty yard. He publicly humiliated me, screaming I was a "cheating whore," then kicked me to my knees, snarling he' d "beat the truth out of me." The horror escalated when he grabbed a hot fire poker, and Tara hissed for him to "brand" me. He shoved me into a filthy pigsty, where a sow charged, slamming into my side, tearing agony erupting through me. I screamed, bleeding heavily, realizing my baby was coming, right there in the mud, as Ethan and Tara laughed. I thought I was going to die, my baby too, abandoned to the filth. Just as darkness closed in, Caleb's truck screeched to a halt, and he emerged, a mask of pure, cold fury, his eyes finding me in the pigsty. He plunged through the mud, scooped me up, and as he carried me away, Tara dared to mock him, "You don' t have to pretend, Caleb! We saved you!" His reply, chillingly quiet, promised, "If she dies, I will kill you both with my bare hands."

Introduction

Ethan Scott promised me a Texas-sized wedding, then drove off with a greasy-haired woman he called his "business partner," leaving me pregnant with his brother Caleb's child.

I married Caleb, secured, and settled into our new life on the outskirts of town, far from the Scotts.

A year later, Ethan and his mistress, Tara, rolled back in, broke and bitter, expecting to find me forlorn-instead they found me heavily pregnant on the porch.

Tara, with a sneer, convinced Ethan I was a conniving gold-digger, trying to pass off another man' s child as his.

Fueled by her lies, Ethan, his own brother, lunged at me, pushing our mother aside before dragging me into the dusty yard.

He publicly humiliated me, screaming I was a "cheating whore," then kicked me to my knees, snarling he' d "beat the truth out of me."

The horror escalated when he grabbed a hot fire poker, and Tara hissed for him to "brand" me.

He shoved me into a filthy pigsty, where a sow charged, slamming into my side, tearing agony erupting through me.

I screamed, bleeding heavily, realizing my baby was coming, right there in the mud, as Ethan and Tara laughed.

I thought I was going to die, my baby too, abandoned to the filth.

Just as darkness closed in, Caleb's truck screeched to a halt, and he emerged, a mask of pure, cold fury, his eyes finding me in the pigsty.

He plunged through the mud, scooped me up, and as he carried me away, Tara dared to mock him, "You don' t have to pretend, Caleb! We saved you!"

His reply, chillingly quiet, promised, "If she dies, I will kill you both with my bare hands."

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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