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Married to the Coldest Media King

Chapter 5 No.5

Word Count: 805 | Released on: 04/02/2026

Upper East Side, overlooking the riv

spun clouds. For a moment, she forgot. Then the

standing by the window like a statue. He pointed to

r, he said. It

ked up the ice pack and held i

usy, Carter repl

ffed. Bus

he recognized-the nursing home wh

icked. You need to come. There are men

od ran cold

Carter. I ha

d. You are ad

e. If you try to stop me, I

hed. I wil

isted living facility, Dylan didn't wait for Car

shouting fro

ors, was standing over Grandma Rose's wheelchair

yelled. That ring on your fing

tched her left hand to her chest. No,

o the room. Get

shove, given her size, but her fury

ce sneered. The little th

a senile woman, Dy

aching for Rose's hand again. And I

g. Dylan, she whispered. She pressed some

ed her fis

face red. You Maxwells are

TV was playing CNBC. The headline scrolled acro

and desperate, f

ce of the solarium. He was watching,

the suit. He recognized the pin

darted from C

hanneled every ounce of arrogance

w by Brennan Capital's legal department. Mr. Carter here is handling the asset assessment. This ring, as part of the Max

blinke

apital has taken over the portfolio. They are auditing everything. Including the provenance of every asset. If you touc

t move. He didn't speak. But he slow

etched, heavy a

rd. He wiped sweat

now, he stammer

an snapped. Leave. Bef

't over, he muttered, but he retreate

ve out, and she grabbed the back o

d. Good girl, she murmured.

Carter. He was w

olding. For him to call Garla

f her. He looked at the d

creative,

didn't know she was holdi

an hates being used, Miss Maxwell. B

arm. Let's get your

Chapter End

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Married to the Coldest Media King

Bing Xialuo Modern

“My father was the King of Wall Street until he was branded a fraud, turning the Maxwell name into a lead weight dragging me to the bottom of the Hudson. I walked into the Brennan Media Tower with blood-red lipstick and a desperate proposal, offering myself as a "paper wife" to Garland Brennan, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan. Garland didn't even look at me as a human being; he tore my term sheet in half and called me "radioactive" before having security toss me out like trash. I returned to my rotting apartment in Bushwick only to find my roommate's cousin, a debt collector named Jax, waiting to break my bones. He pinned me against the wall, his hand heavy on my throat as he sneered about selling me to a club to pay off my father's debts. With my ribs aching and my back against the radiator, I had to leak corporate secrets on Twitter just to summon Garland's private mercenaries to stop a predator. The humiliation didn't stop there. At the Met Gala, the elite mocked my dress made of construction tarp, and my father's creditors began harassing my senile grandmother in her nursing home. I was a cornered animal, and Garland Brennan was the only hunter offering a cage instead of a grave. I realized then that in this zip code, you are either the predator or the prey, and I was tired of being hunted. Garland offered me a marriage contract that demanded total submission-no equity, no voting rights, just an employee with a wedding ring. I signed the four-hundred-page document with a steady hand, but not before hiding a legal poison pill in the fine print. He thinks he bought a silent asset, but I just secured a front-row seat to his downfall.”