Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Best Man

Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Best Man

Qing He

5.0
Comment(s)
View
20
Chapters

Kloe Guthrie dragged her crystal-encrusted wedding gown down the penthouse corridor, exhausted but ready to finally be alone with her new husband, Justen. But as she passed the presidential suite, a familiar, cloying perfume stopped her. Through the cracked door, she saw Justen brutally thrusting into her cousin, Candyce. "Like fucking a corpse with Kloe," Justen grunted, his voice thick with lust. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though." Candyce giggled, mocking Kloe's pathetic gratitude. Shattered, Kloe stumbled backward in the dark, only to be caught by Julian Larsen-Justen's billionaire best man. Instead of offering sympathy, Julian trapped her against the wall. He forced her to listen to her husband's cruel mockery, then dragged her into the opposite suite, tearing off her wedding dress and dismantling her dignity piece by piece. Everything she had believed for four years was a meticulously calculated lie. She was nothing but a boring prop to the man she loved, a naive fool meant to be drained of her family's immense wealth and laughed at behind closed doors. The humiliation and betrayal burned through her veins like acid. "You could cry," Julian whispered against her neck, his eyes predatory and dark. "Or you could make him regret he was ever born." Instead of running from the man cornering her in the dark, Kloe looked at the destroyed remains of her life, grabbed Julian's collar, and pulled him in. This time, she would make them all pay.

Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Best Man Chapter 1 1

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Kloe Guthrie stepped onto the plush carpet of the Starlight Hotel's penthouse corridor. Her fingers ached from gripping the heavy crystal-encrusted skirt of her wedding gown, thousands of Swarovski elements catching the dim light like scattered stars. She'd been shaking hands and air-kissing cheeks for six hours straight, and her palm still felt stiff from the repetitive motion.

Her ankles burned. The four-inch Louboutins she'd insisted on-because Justen loved how they made her legs look-had rubbed raw blisters into her heels with every step. She slowed her pace, wincing as the leather scraped against broken skin.

Kloe fumbled with her satin clutch, extracting the gold-embossed keycard. Her fingers, swollen from the evening's exertion, struggled to find purchase on the smooth plastic. She needed to get inside, peel off this forty-pound dress, and soak in a hot bath before Justen finished his cigars with the groomsmen.

The corridor stretched before her, lit by antique wall sconces that cast pools of amber light between stretches of shadow. As she passed the third doorway, something stopped her. A scent, foreign and wrong, threading through the recycled air of the climate-controlled hallway.

Cheap perfume. Sweet, cloying, aggressively floral.

Kloe's nose wrinkled. She knew that scent. Candyce had bathed in it since they were teenagers, declaring it "her signature" despite every department store in Manhattan carrying identical bottles in their discount bins. Her cousin had worn it tonight, dousing herself before the ceremony while complaining that Kloe's Vera Wang made her own cocktail dress look "intentionally understated."

What was Candyce doing on the penthouse floor?

Kloe took two more steps. The presidential suite loomed at the corridor's end, its mahogany door slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light cut across the carpet from the gap.

Then she heard it.

A sound, breathy and damp, pushed through the crack in the door. It hit Kloe's eardrum like a physical blow-a woman's moan, pitched high and theatrical, the kind of performance Candyce had perfected in high school theater.

Kloe's heart slammed against her ribs. She stopped breathing. Her body moved forward without her permission, drawn by some horrible magnetic pull, until her eye aligned with the door's edge.

Inside, the suite's sitting room was visible. The Tiffany lamp cast everything in sickly gold. On the cream-colored sofa, two bodies moved in a rhythm Kloe recognized but had never seen from this angle. Candyce's red nails dug into broad shoulders. Justen's hands gripped her cousin's waist, his watch-a gift from Kloe's father-glinting under the lamp with every brutal thrust.

"God, you're so much better than her," Justen grunted, his voice thick with liquor and lust. "Like fucking a corpse with Kloe. This face, this body-this is what I wanted."

Candyce giggled, the sound like breaking glass. "You should have seen her face when you put the ring on. So grateful. So pathetic."

"Four years of playing the devoted fiancé." Justen's laugh was ugly, wet. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though. Her grandmother's lawyer finally signed off yesterday. Once we're married, I can start moving assets."

Kloe's stomach heaved. The keycard slipped from her numb fingers, landing on the carpet with a barely audible thud. But in the ringing silence of Kloe's mind, the sound was a gunshot, deafening and final, shattering whatever fragile denial she had left.

She stumbled backward, her shoulder blades colliding with something hard and ceramic. A display pedestal. An antique vase-Ming dynasty, on loan from the hotel's private collection-wobbled violently, its curved belly tilting toward the marble floor.

Her hands flew out instinctively, a desperate, futile gesture to catch the priceless ceramic before it hit the floor. She braced for the inevitable crash, the shouting, the humiliation of being discovered here, listening to her fiancé fuck her cousin on their wedding night.

The impact never came.

A hand shot from the shadows, large and certain, catching the vase's base before it shattered. The Patek Philippe on the wrist caught the light-platinum, complicated, worth more than Kloe's car.

She opened her eyes.

Black wool. Impeccable tailoring. The scent of Cuban tobacco and wintergreen cutting through Candyce's cheap perfume.

Julian Larsen stepped fully into the corridor's dim light, his tie loosened, his dark hair mussed in a way that suggested he'd been running his hands through it. His eyes-gray-green, predatory, amused-fixed on her with the intensity of a man watching prey walk into his trap.

Kloe knew him. Everyone knew Julian Larsen. Justen's best man, his college roommate, his "brother from another mother" who'd flown in from Singapore for the wedding. The man who'd toasted them three hours ago with a speech about loyalty and lifelong friendship.

Had he been standing there the whole time? Had he watched her entire world crumble while she stood there like a naive fool? The thought sent a fresh wave of humiliation through her, hot and corrosive.

Shame flooded Kloe's veins, hot and corrosive. She tried to sidestep, to flee, but Julian moved with her, his broad shoulders blocking the path to the elevator. He advanced one step. Then another. Until her back pressed against the wall and his body created a cage of heat and expensive fabric between her and the rest of the world.

From behind the mahogany door, Justen's voice rose in a mockery of intimacy. "Kloe's probably asleep already. Poor thing was exhausted from all that smiling. Like a doll, you know? Pretty to look at, but nothing happening upstairs or downstairs."

Julian's breath ghosted across her earlobe, warm and deliberate. "So," his voice was a low murmur against her ear, the vibration traveling down her spine. "You could scream and cry. Or you could make him regret he was ever born. The choice is yours. But you only have ten seconds to decide."

Kloe's head snapped up. She met his gaze directly, her voice a ragged whisper. "Are you enjoying this? Watching me fall apart?"

Julian's thumb rose, tracing the sweat-dampened hair at her temple with a gentleness that contradicted everything in his stance. The touch sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

"I don't enjoy watching," he said. His eyes dropped to her mouth, held there. "But I'm very interested in participating."

The door behind them rattled-Justen shifting position, Candyce's giggle cutting through the wood. Kloe's nails dug into her palms, breaking skin. She felt the wetness of blood, the distant pulse of pain.

Julian's hand dropped, capturing her bleeding fist. His thumb pressed hard into the crescent-shaped wound, sending a bright spike of sensation up her arm.

"Room next door," he said, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated in her chest. "Different room. Different man. Different ending to your wedding night."

Kloe stared at him. At the predator's patience in his eyes. At the certainty that he would wait forever for her answer, that he had nowhere else to be, that this moment-her humiliation, her rage, her desperate need to be someone other than the pathetic bride in the corridor-was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

Her fingers found his lapel. Clenched. Pulled.

Julian's mouth curved, satisfaction and something darker flashing across his features. His arm locked around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet. With one backward kick, the door to the opposite suite swung open, and the darkness swallowed them both.

Continue Reading

Other books by Qing He

More
Rejected by the Heir, Claimed by the Alpha King

Rejected by the Heir, Claimed by the Alpha King

Werewolf

5.0

My Coming of Age ceremony was supposed to be a coronation. Instead, it was a funeral for my heart. I stood shivering as Catalina, the woman trying to steal my place, pushed me into the stone pool. My heavy silk dress pulled me down like an anchor. I waited for Jax, the Alpha Heir and my Fated Mate, to save me. He did dive in—but not for me. He scooped up Catalina, who was standing in waist-deep water, treating her like a porcelain doll while I choked on the water. His voice exploded in my head, not with concern, but with disgust. "Stop embarrassing me, Eliana. You look pathetic." Things only got worse. When I confronted them later, Catalina shoved me down the grand staircase. My knee—my dancer’s knee—snapped with a sickening sound. Jax didn't call a doctor. He used the Alpha Command to force me to drag my broken body out of the room so I wouldn't "upset" his mistress. I thought he was just blinded by love, until I overheard him laughing with his Beta. He admitted he didn't love Catalina. He was just using her to break my spirit, to "tame" me into a submissive pet before finally marking me. He thought I was weak. He thought I would stay in the mud forever. He was wrong. I took a silver knife and scraped our carved initials off the Sacred Oak until my skin sizzled. I packed my bags for New York, severing the pack link that bound us. "Sleep well, Jax. Because when I come back, I won't be the girl you broke. I will be the nightmare you created."

Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

Misdiagnosis in andrology, My Billionaire Husband

Modern

5.0

I was forty-eight hours into my shift, smelling of stale sweat and clutching a red-stamped bill for my mother's life support. As a scholarship intern, I was a ghost in the hospital, working myself to the bone just to keep her ventilator humming. Then Dr. Thorne shoved a metal clipboard into my chest and ordered me to perform a surgical prep on a VIP patient for a circumcision. But the moment the cold betadine touched the man's skin, he lunged at me like a predator, his hand crushing my wrist until the bone nearly snapped. "I'm here for a kidney stone. What kind of incompetent butcher shop is this?" He wasn't a patient; he was Conrad Marks, a lethal billionaire, and Thorne had intentionally set me up to assault him. Within minutes, a five-million-dollar lawsuit was filed, and the Dean ordered security to shred my license and throw me out of the building. My phone buzzed with a final notice: the facility was stopping my mother's meds at midnight because my payment had failed. I was a doctor who had just been framed and a daughter about to watch her mother die. I didn't understand why Thorne would ruin me so casually, but with my mother's life on the line, I had nothing left to lose. I slipped past the guards and back into the billionaire's suite with a set of silver needles and a desperate bargain. I stopped his agony in seconds, and when he looked at me with those cold, lethal eyes, I offered a trade: I would be the fake girlfriend his family demanded if he would save my mother and bury the lawsuit. "Deal," he said, his grip on my waist tightening with dark possession. I signed the contract, realizing I hadn't just saved my career-I had sold my soul to the most dangerous man in New York.

When Innocence Masks Deceit

When Innocence Masks Deceit

Modern

5.0

The memory was seared into my brain. The stale air of the abandoned warehouse, the terrified breathing of the hostage, and the shrill, righteous voice of rookie Emily Davis. That was my first life, a life that ended in disgrace because of her. Emily insisted she could calm the kidnapper, disregarding my direct order to stay put. She broke formation, stepped into the open, and a single gunshot echoed. Chris Walker, a college kid with his whole life ahead of him, slumped to the floor. Then, Emily started to cry, loud, gut-wrenching wails, as if she were the biggest victim. Our colleagues rushed to her side, offering sympathy while I stared at the cooling body of Chris Walker. My rage, cold and hard, filled my chest. "You wanted to help? You got him killed. You broke every rule in the book." Emily looked up, her face a mask of tear-streaked innocence. "Why are you so mean, Sarah? I was just trying to save a life." She theatrically banged her head against the wall, whimpering, "It should have been me!" Lieutenant Miller, my superior, cradled her like a child, then turned his cold eyes on me. "Jenkins, what the hell is wrong with you? Can't you see she's suffering?" The department needed a scapegoat. The media was having a field day, and it was easier to blame the cold, no-nonsense veteran, Sarah Jenkins, than the sweet, innocent rookie who "just wanted to help." They threw me to the wolves. My career was ruined, my name was mud. I died with that weight on my soul. Until I opened my eyes. The same stale air. The same sense of dread. I was back in the warehouse, moments before everything went wrong. Emily Davis was repeating the exact same words, getting ready to make the same fatal mistake. But not this time.

You'll also like

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Best Man Betrayed Bride: Claimed By The Best Man Qing He Romance
“Kloe Guthrie dragged her crystal-encrusted wedding gown down the penthouse corridor, exhausted but ready to finally be alone with her new husband, Justen. But as she passed the presidential suite, a familiar, cloying perfume stopped her. Through the cracked door, she saw Justen brutally thrusting into her cousin, Candyce. "Like fucking a corpse with Kloe," Justen grunted, his voice thick with lust. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though." Candyce giggled, mocking Kloe's pathetic gratitude. Shattered, Kloe stumbled backward in the dark, only to be caught by Julian Larsen-Justen's billionaire best man. Instead of offering sympathy, Julian trapped her against the wall. He forced her to listen to her husband's cruel mockery, then dragged her into the opposite suite, tearing off her wedding dress and dismantling her dignity piece by piece. Everything she had believed for four years was a meticulously calculated lie. She was nothing but a boring prop to the man she loved, a naive fool meant to be drained of her family's immense wealth and laughed at behind closed doors. The humiliation and betrayal burned through her veins like acid. "You could cry," Julian whispered against her neck, his eyes predatory and dark. "Or you could make him regret he was ever born." Instead of running from the man cornering her in the dark, Kloe looked at the destroyed remains of her life, grabbed Julian's collar, and pulled him in. This time, she would make them all pay.”
1

Chapter 1 1

Today at 15:46

2

Chapter 2 2

Today at 15:46

3

Chapter 3 3

Today at 15:46

4

Chapter 4 4

Today at 15:46

5

Chapter 5 5

Today at 15:46

6

Chapter 6 6

Today at 15:46

7

Chapter 7 7

Today at 15:46

8

Chapter 8 8

Today at 15:46

9

Chapter 9 9

Today at 15:46

10

Chapter 10 10

Today at 15:46

11

Chapter 11 11

Today at 17:44

12

Chapter 12 12

Today at 17:44

13

Chapter 13 13

Today at 17:44

14

Chapter 14 14

Today at 17:44

15

Chapter 15 15

Today at 17:44

16

Chapter 16 16

Today at 17:44

17

Chapter 17 17

Today at 17:44

18

Chapter 18 18

Today at 17:44

19

Chapter 19 19

Today at 17:44

20

Chapter 20 20

Today at 17:44