The Bargain Bride

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Jessica C. Dolan

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

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"Who did this to you?!" Gabriel Russo's voice was thick with anger as he asked the question. His dark eyes burned as they roamed over the bruises covering his cousin's delicate face and body.

Diana sat on the edge of the couch, her body trembling. Her right eye was swollen shut, her lip split, and tears streaked down her face. She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Who the fuck did this to you Diana?!" Gabriel growled, slamming his fist into the coffee table in front of them making Diana flinch in fear.

Her sobs grew louder as she tried to speak, her voice breaking. "No one...I...I fell."

"You fell? Do I look like I was born yesterday!!" Gabriel bellowed. "Who the fuck did this!!"

Diana burst into fresh tears. "It was Rodney...Rodney Vazquez."

Gabriel stilled, his towering presence now calm. The name echoed in his mind.

"Vazquez?" He asked his voice dropping to a cold, dangerous murmur.

Diana nodded, her hands twisting the hem of her shirt. "That's why I didn't want to tell you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to start a war over nothing."

Gabriel's expression darkened further. He leaned in closer, his voice now menacing. "Over nothing?"

Diana shut her mouth, her lips quivering.

"Did he rape you?" Gabriel demanded, though a part of him dreaded the answer.

Another round of fresh tears streamed down her face as she tried to look away, but her silence spoke volumes. It was enough to make his insides twist.

"No living man dares touch a member of the Russo family like this and thinks he'll get away with it," he growled.

"Gabriel, please don't do anything rash," Diana pleaded, her tone desperate.

But he had already turned away, dismissing her words. His eyes searched for Javier, his most trusted right-hand man, who had been standing silently by the door, waiting for orders.

"Get the men ready. We're paying a visit to the Vazquez estate," Gabriel ordered, his tone hard as steel.

Javier nodded, his jaw tight. "Consider it done. Sir."

"Please, Gabriel... don't do this." Diana cried grabbing Gabriel's hand.

But he didn't even look at her. His jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides.

This was a matter of honor and respect. Both things Rodney Vasquez had disregarded. And he would pay with his life for touching his cousin.

---

"I can't keep tending to your wounds every week, Rodney," Amelia Vasquez muttered as she dabbed antiseptic onto the deep scratches beside her brother's eye. Her movements were firm but careful, her frustration evident in every swipe of the cotton wool.

Rodney winced, sucking in a sharp breath as the antiseptic burned against his skin. "This time, it wasn't my fault," he protested, his tone defensive.

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