He Sold Me. I Became His Creditor.

The lawyer handed me the divorce agreement while I was making fish stew for Brett. "Ms. Keating, Mr. Ellwood has signed it." I turned off the stove. "How much?" The lawyer froze. "What?" "How much did he get for giving me away?" The living room fell silent for several seconds. "$300 million." I turned to the last page. Brett had signed his name without hesitation. The time stamp read 3:17 p.m. I opened our messages on my phone. At 3:20 p.m.: Brett: Fish tonight. At 3:23 p.m.: Brett: Skip the parsley. At 3:40 p.m.: Brett: I'll come home early and spend time with you. I stared at the messages. Apparently, a man could decide to give his wife away and still have an appetite. "What do the Bramwells want?" The lawyer lowered his head. "Dean Bramwell, the family's eldest son, has been in a coma for a year since a car accident. With Bramwell Group in crisis, Mr. Bramwell's grandfather believed a public wedding could stabilize the company. The psychic said you'd be a perfect match for Dean and bring him luck." "So Brett gave me to them?" The lawyer didn't answer. The door opened, and Brett came home. He took off his coat and glanced at the dining table first. "Where's the stew?" I looked up. Only then did he see the divorce agreement on the table. He stopped. "The lawyer came?" "Yes." "Then you must know everything." How convenient. He didn't even need to tell me himself, because he was sure I'd understand. "$300 million?" "The company can survive 3 more days at most." He rubbed his brow. "The banks are calling in their loans, suppliers have stopped delivering, and thousands of employees are waiting for their paychecks. The Bramwells will help us through it. Their only condition is that you and Dean maintain a public marriage for a year." "Only?" "He's been unconscious for a year. You won't be husband and wife in any real sense." He looked at me. "Once the divorce is final, you'll have the wedding. When the year is up, I'll bring you back." "What if I refuse?" He said nothing. I asked again, "What if the Bramwells wanted your shares instead of me?" His expression faltered for a moment before he frowned. "That's different." "How?" "Lena, now isn't the time to be selfish." I laughed. "Fine." That unsettled him. "Lena—" "One last question." I held his gaze. "The company or me. Which would you choose?" He didn't answer at once. His throat worked. "Are you going to make me answer that right now?" I didn't look away. "I see." "That's not what I meant." "You don't have to explain." I picked up a pen and signed the last page. "At 3:17 p.m., you already gave me your answer." The next day, we filed for divorce together. Then came the 30-day waiting period. On day 1, Brett went to work as usual. On day 10, the Bramwells sent someone to measure me for a wedding dress. On day 20, Ellwood Group received the first bridge loan from Bramwell Group. On day 30, Brett didn't withdraw the filing. Neither did I. The day the divorce became final, the Bramwell wedding car was already waiting outside the courthouse. Brett drove me there himself, then accompanied me to the Bramwell house. He reached out to straighten my veil where the wind had blown it askew. He had done the same thing at our wedding 7 years ago. Back then, he'd said, "Don't be afraid. I'll never let anyone hurt you again." Now he said, "It's only a year." "Brett," I asked suddenly, "what if I said I wasn't going in?" His hand hung in the air. 5 seconds passed. Then 10. Finally, he said, "Lena, don't make this harder for me." At that moment, the part of me still waiting for him to change his mind went quiet. "Fine." His phone rang. It was Nadine Bramwell, Brett's childhood friend of more than 10 years and first love, and Dean's younger sister. The moment he answered, I could hear her sobbing. "Brett, my brother's heart rate dropped again. I'm scared..." His face changed. "I'll be right there." He got out of the car, walked a few steps, then turned back. "Call me when the ceremony's over. I'll come get you." "Don't bother." He frowned. "Lena." I straightened my own veil. "Go. Don't keep her waiting." And he went. A member of the Bramwell household staff approached. "Mrs. Ellwood?" I stopped. "It's Keating." "Ms. Keating, this way, please." I didn't take much with me that day. And I left behind the title I'd gone by for 7 years—Mrs. Ellwood. Brett could have it back. An hour later, I was Mrs. Bramwell to the outside world. There was no marriage license, only a wedding the whole city knew about. In the bedroom, Dean Bramwell lay motionless on the bed. I took off the ring and set it on the nightstand. "Mr. Bramwell, let's get something straight. I don't love you, and I won't sit at your bedside playing the devoted wife. When our agreement ends in a year, you can go on sleeping." After a moment, I added, "You've had rotten luck too. There are two of us here. One can't speak, and the other doesn't get a say." I turned to leave. Behind me came a hoarse voice. "Who says I can't speak?" I froze. 2 seconds later, I muttered, "$300 million." I spun around. The man who'd supposedly been unconscious for a year was looking straight at me, far too alert for someone who had just woken up. The corner of Dean's mouth lifted. "Ms. Keating, they underpaid you."