Married to the Coldest Media King

Chapter 6 No.6

Word Count: 645 | Released on: 04/02/2026

watching the city lights blur. She had bought herself time, but she had a

it real, she sa

r in the rearview mi

e people believe Garla

was the closest thing to enco

three days. It was the biggest social event

Mrs. Vane, the chair

it's Dyla

I'm afraid your invitation was... re

auction last year, Mrs. Vane, Dylan said, her voice

icket back,

. But you're sitting b

re I sit. Just s

p. Step on

was locked in an FBI evidence

ehouse in the Meatpacking Di

out of favor because of his drug habit. He owed

, looking disheveled. Dy

ess, Ale. F

o silk. I have no ch

with industrial junk. Rolls of black, heav

ted to i

tarp. That is dust clot

We are going to deconstruct it. We are goin

lit up. He grabbed

od still while Alessandro pinned and cut the stiff, black f

ffshore accounts from Panama. "Planning a party or an assassination?" Alessandro asked, snipping a jagged edge near her shoulder. "A merger," she

land sat at his desk.

n Vance with your na

typing. He loo

et Gala. She is wearing a dres

s his face. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a m

. This could damage the brand. Her un-denied presence

d said. Do

nday night, Garland said

the Gala, Jav

But this is no longer a party. It's a press co

Chapter End

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“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.”