My Husband’s Debt Made Me His Enemy’s Bride

The crystal chandelier in our Upper East Side penthouse cast fractured light across Brody's face as he delivered the words that would shatter my world.

"Wilder Hawkins wants collateral for the debt." His fingers drummed against the marble countertop, a staccato rhythm that matched my suddenly racing pulse. "He demanded Angela."

I steadied myself against the kitchen island, the cold stone biting into my palms. Wilder Hawkins. Even his name carried weight in Manhattan—the King of Wall Street, they called him. The man who destroyed competitors before breakfast and built empires by lunch. "Then send her."

Brody's laugh was sharp, bitter. "I can't do that, Catherine. Angela is—" He touched his watch, the Patek Philippe I'd given him for our third anniversary. "She's my future. You'll go instead."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Outside, the city glittered with a thousand oblivious lights.

"You're trading me." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "To a man the tabloids call a monster."

"It's temporary. Just until I restructure the company." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Angela and I are getting married as soon as the paperwork clears."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet, but I forced myself to stand straight. Five years of marriage, reduced to a business transaction.

I drove to my father's brownstone in Gramercy Park, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Dad would help. He had to help.

The sound of laughter spilled into the foyer before I even rang the bell. Through the window, I saw them—my father, my stepmother Victoria, and Angela, champagne flutes raised in celebration.

Victoria opened the door, her smile sharp as glass. "Catherine. We were just toasting Angela's engagement."

I pushed past her into the living room. "Dad, Brody wants to send me to Wilder Hawkins as collateral. You have to—"

"We know." My father set down his glass with deliberate care. "It's the right move, Catherine. For the family."

Angela lounged on the velvet sofa, her legs tucked beneath her like a satisfied cat. "Don't be so dramatic, Cath. It's just business."

"Business?" The word tasted like ash. "He's sending me to a man who—"

"Who will probably get bored and send you back in a few weeks." Victoria's voice dripped false sympathy. "Really, darling, you should be grateful Brody's giving you this opportunity to be useful."

The room spun. These people—my family—had already decided my fate over champagne and canapés.

"Where's Madden?" I turned toward the stairs. "I'm taking my son."

"Madden!" Angela's voice rang out, sweet as poisoned honey. "Your mom's here."

My seven-year-old appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a new gaming console I'd never seen before. His face fell when he saw me.

"Come on, sweetheart. We're leaving."

"I don't want to go with you." He stepped back, his small voice cutting deeper than any blade. "You're boring. Aunt Angela says I can stay here and Dad's getting me a puppy and—"

"Madden—"

"I want to stay with Aunt