Billionaire's Darkest Desire: Marrying My Brother-in-law

As much as I loathe calculus, I hate family dinner.

Isn't it hypocritical to call it family dinner if you all don't see each other as one? If you don't treat each other as one? 

As I sat there, staring at the neatly arranged plates and utensils, the air around me felt so fake. Every movement felt scripted, as if everyone was pretending we were this perfect family. But the truth? We were far from it. 

Why do we even need to keep up this weekly charade? We all just sit here, eating in silence, pretending we're closer than we actually are.

And honestly, the silence was better than the fake conversations.

Uncle Sandro broke the silence, flashing his usual polite smile. "So, Farah, how's school going?"

Farah, who had been quietly picking at her food, perked up a little. “I’m actually running for valedictorian in 10th grade,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. At least someone in this family was achieving something. But before anyone else could react, my father, Edmund, let out a dry chuckle.

“Valedictorian?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the point of being valedictorian if you’re just a girl?”

The room fell into an awkward silence. I could see Farah’s face fall, her excitement crushed in an instant. Here we go again. Another reminder that, in my father's eyes, being a girl would never be enough.

"Edmund, come on," Uncle Sandro said, his tone almost pleading, trying to diffuse the tension.

Edmund didn’t even look at him. Instead, he just gave a short, dismissive cough, as if to say the conversation wasn’t worth continuing. 

But then, Uncle Sandro, ever the mediator, turned his attention to me. "How about you, dear Eloise? How’s life lately?"

“Good,” I muttered, keeping it as short as possible. I had no energy to engage in another fake, meaningless exchange. I knew what would come next, anyway. And just as I predicted, Edmund didn’t let the moment slip by.

"Sandro," he said, turning to his brother, "Why don’t you talk some sense into your niece? Instead of wasting money on useless things, why doesn’t she just find another husband and give me a grandson..." 

To my father, my worth could only be measured by my ability to marry and bear a son. The worst part? He said it as if I wasn’t sitting right there, as if I was just a project to be managed, not his daughter. 

I heard Uncle Sandro sigh deeply, as if he felt bad for me. 

"Edmund, it’s only been four years since that tragedy happened. Let's give Eloise some time—"

"Time?" Edmund cut her off, his voice sharp. "How much time does she need, Sandro? A decade? Two decades? I’m not getting any younger, I need a freaking heir!"

Uncle Sandro's eyes narrowed, and I could hear the frustration in his voice when he responded. "I don’t know, brother, if you’re blind or something. You already have your two heiresses right here!"

Edmund chuckled, the sound laced with insult. "I'd rather trade my soul to the devil to make me live longer than hand the company over to them." 

He had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of us, of me and Farah. We were never enough in his eyes, never what he truly wanted. And no matter what we did, we never would be.

Edmund shook his head in disbelief, a scornful expression on his face. “When my wife died, I immediately recovered. Unlike Eloise, who seems to be wallowing in her sadness forever.”

I couldn’t let that slide. 

“Because you didn’t love her,” I shot back, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

His expression shifted slightly, surprise mixed with indignation. “What do you know about love, Eloise?” he spat.

A small smile crept onto my lips at the absurdity of his question. I slowly put down my utensils and met my father’s intense glare. 

"I don't know, father, but all I know is that love is not about trying to impregnate someone after your wife died, hoping you can have your own son, but instead ending up with a freaking daughter, right?"

His face turned crimson, anger radiating from him like a heatwave. “You bastard.”

“Edmund!” Uncle Sandro interjected, his voice sharp with concern.

But Edmund was too far gone, his rage spilling out. “You ungrateful little shit—” he began, hurling a string of curses at me, each word sharper than the last. “You think you know everything, don’t you?!”

“I know everything you could imagine I can.” I said calmly.

“Shut your mouth, Eloise! You don’t have a damn clue about real life! You’re just a spoiled widow brat thinking she can throw around insults without any consequences!”

I turned him out, the heat of the moment boiling over. I refused to let his words crush me. I stood up from the table, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, and walked away without a backward glance.

This “family dinner” always ended up the same way: a cycle of insults, accusations, and regret. I had had enough.

As I left the dining room, I could hear Edmund still cursing under his breath, “You’ll never be anything more than a disappointment!” But his words felt distant, like echoes fading into nothingness. I didn’t need to hear him anymore. I stepped outside the mansion to get my car.

Tonight was another episode of illegal activities.

---

“You’re going to race in that outfit?” Gary asked, looking me up and down with a skeptical expression.

I rolled my eyes at him. Damn, Edmund. Because of him, I forgot to change clothes. 

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I shot back, my tone defensive. I was wearing a bodycon orange dress that hugged my curves, and I thought I looked great.

Gary shook his head, crossing his arms. “No way. I’m not letting you race like that. You’ll get yourself killed.”

I sighed, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Come on, Gary! I know what I’m doing.” 

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You’re asking for trouble. You’ll be more of a distraction than anything.”

“Distraction? Is that all you think I am?” I stepped closer, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about I make it worth your while?”

His eyes narrowed, intrigued but still hesitant. “What do you mean?”

I smirked, pulling a crisp bill from my pocket and waving it in front of him. “You let me race, and this is yours. A little motivation, don’t you think?”

Gary’s expression shifted as he took a step back, pretending to consider it. “You think money will change my mind? This isn’t just about cash, Eloise. It’s about safety.”

“Safety is boring,” I countered, pushing the bill into his hand. “Just think of it as a bonus for being a good friend. Besides, I promise to be careful.”

He stared at the money, then back at me, weighing his options. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he shook his head. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on you. If things go south, you’re out.”

I grinned, feeling victorious. “Deal. Now let’s hit the road!” 

With that, I slid into my car, adrenaline coursing through me. Tonight was going to be a rush, and I was determined to make it count. 

The atmosphere at the racetrack was electric, the sound of revving engines and cheers echoing all around. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my heart racing with excitement. This was what I lived for—the thrill of the race.

As the countdown began, I glanced at the other racers. When the lights turned green, I shot forward, tires screeching on the asphalt.

The race was intense, every corner a challenge. I wove in and out of cars, feeling unstoppable. But then, I miscalculated a turn and bumped into a wall. The impact jolted me, panic flooding my mind. 

But I shook it off quickly. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, feeling the engine roar back to life. I was back in the game.

I pushed forward, gaining speed and closing in on the lead car. The finish line was in sight, and I poured everything I had into that final stretch. 

With one last burst of speed, I crossed the finish line first. Cheers erupted around me, and I felt an overwhelming rush of victory. I had done it. I stepped out of the car, adrenaline still pumping, and grinned. 

Tonight, I was a champion.

As I walked toward the tent to search for water when I heard some noise. 

“You loser, you got beat by Eloise again,” one of them laughed, his tone dripping with mockery.

“Shut up, you son of a bitch. I just let that bitch off the hook because she’s a widow,” the other replied, a sneer in his voice.

I smirked sarcastically. They were talking as if my status as a widow made me less of a competitor. 

“Look at her,” the first guy continued, “playing the grieving card. She’s just using that to get sympathy from everyone.”

“Exactly,” the second one chimed in. “It’s pathetic. She should be at home crying instead of racing. What a joke.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped out from behind the tent, confronting the two guys with fire in my eyes. “You know what’s pathetic? You two losers sitting here trash-talking a woman who just kicked your asses in a race.”

They turned, surprise flickering across their faces. “What did you say?!” the first guy sneered, trying to regain his composure.

“I said you’re both losers,” I shot back. “You should be embarrassed to lose to someone you think is just a ‘widow’ playing the grieving card. Clearly, I’m just better than you two.”

Their expressions soured, and I could see the anger brewing. “You think you’re tough, huh?” the second guy spat. “You’re just a sad little girl looking for attention!”

“Sad? I’d say it’s sad that you can’t handle losing to me.” I stepped closer, my adrenaline pumping because of excitement. “You should be ashamed of yourself for talking about someone who’s gone through real pain. But I guess that’s all you know how to do—be pathetic.”

In a sudden flash of rage, the first guy lunged at me. I sidestepped him, my instincts kicking in, and with a swift motion, I punched him squarely in the nose. He staggered back, clutching his face, blood streaming between his fingers.

The second guy reacted, I was caught off guard, he punched me on my face, making my nose bleed but before he could launch another punch, I kicked him hard between the legs, and he collapsed to the ground, groaning in agony.

“Next time you want to talk shit, think twice,” I hissed, feeling a mix of triumph and adrenaline.

But that victory was short-lived. A couple of security guards rushed over, quickly assessing the situation. “What’s going on here?” one of them demanded, looking between me and the two men on the ground.

I raised my hands defensively. “They started it.” 

The guard glanced at the two guys, who were now groaning and nursing their wounds. “You’re coming with us,” he said, grabbing my arm. 

Before I knew it, I was being led away, my heart racing for a different reason now. I never thought I’d end up in jail over a stupid argument, but I wasn’t going to regret standing up for myself. They could call me whatever they wanted, but I would never be a victim.

“I’m here for Eloise Hart.”

A smirk crept onto my face at the sound of that familiar voice.

Of course, he would save my ass again.

Elijah Dawson, my brother-in-law.