All Chapters of Between Her Shithead And The Wrong Brother : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Ariella's POV.I woke to silk sheets, and there was no sound of anything. Not peace and not calm, but nothing. The kind that makes you question whether you’re still breathing.Damon was already dressed. Espresso in hand. Gray suit. Crisp, expensive, perfect. He didn’t acknowledge me. Just sipped and scrolled his phone like the bed wasn’t still warm from where I’d slept alone.“Did we...?” My voice cracked on the question.He didn’t bother to turn. “No. What would be the point?”Humiliation wrapped around me like a second skin.“You weren’t bought for that,” he said. “You were bought for your name. Your face. Your availability when the cameras flash.”He dropped a folder on the bed beside me.“Today’s itinerary. The brunch starts in two hours. We’ll make a quick stop for press. You’ll wear white again. Don’t frown, it photographs badly.”I didn’t touch the folder. Just stared at the man who now dictated my schedule.“Get up,” he added calmly. “We have an image to protect.”Makeup. Hair

Ariella's POV.Damon left before sunrise. His departure was abrupt. He left for business in Geneva, he said. No goodbyes beyond the cold brush of his hand against mine. “Stay… presentable,” he murmured, voice flat but edged with command.I wasn’t sure if the instruction applied to appearances or obedience.Within hours, his closest staffer, Marcus, arrived with vigilance. “Breakfast is ready, Ariella,” he said, but his eyes lingered longer than necessary. He was tasked to watch, to report. I noticed the way he subtly hovered, not intrusive yet unmistakably observing.But something felt off. Little details, a misplaced glass, a chair slightly too close, told me Marcus wasn’t the only one. Damon always had layers. I could feel the invisible hand of someone else, someone watching me beyond Marcus’s awareness.The burner phone buzzed. It was a message, inviting me to a meeting. It has a location and time, but no name of the sender.I and left the house with the phone hidden in my clutch

Ariella's POV.Damon was seated by his bar, a glass of espresso was Infront of him. It looked he didn’t need it and didn’t sip it. He fixed his eyes on mine across the dinning room. He took the glass of wine up and set it down. “Where were you yesterday at 4:35 PM?”Straight to it.“I was at the spa,” I said calmly. “You can call the driver.”“I did,” he cut in. “He said you stopped off somewhere for fifteen minutes and insisted on waiting outside. No security. No cameras. No accountability.”I kept my spine straight. “A woman is allowed privacy.”He walked toward me slowly. “Not my woman.”The slap didn’t come. Damon didn’t deal in physical violence. No, he used silence, pressure and control. Weapons that never left bruises but always left scars.“You’re playing a game you’re not trained for,” he said. “And if you lose, it won’t be you who pays first. It’ll be your father. Your cousin in Prague. Maybe even your friend, the one with the bakery.”I didn’t flinch. That was the only

Ariella's POV.I was alone in the hospital under the strict watch of Dr. Holden. But what Damon and others doesn't know is the relationship between and the hospital. I was in private executive ward. The monitor beside my bed beeped steadily. Calm. Controlled. A perfect place to lie.I wasn’t sick. But I needed to be seen as fragile, worn out, breakable.Dr. Holden had played his part well. “You’ll stay overnight,” he said after his examination. “Severe fatigue. Emotional exhaustion. Standard.” Then his voice dropped low, near my ear. “Even hospitals have ears. Watch yourself.”I already was. I smiled and kept myself curled under the hospital duvet. As the nurse stepped out, I took out the remote tucked under my pillow. I flipped the switch. The red light blinked once, recording. Let them come. Just then the door cracked open. Jace walked in smiling. “I brought you something to help you feel human again. He said, lifting the bottle. “And dark chocolates. Imported. Damon never thin

Damon’s POVThe message hit harder than I expected.I watched Ariella’s face fade from the screen. I went through her statement inwardly again. What rattled me wasn’t the confession or the accusations but her tone. She was calm and Cold. So controlled and strategic. She’d stopped being my wife the moment she’d stopped being afraid.She wanted a war.Fine.I pressed the intercom. “Marcus.”“Sir?”“Two things, first, freeze every account tied to Ariella. There was. There was a direct link. Use our offshore chain through Zurich. Make it look like a compliance audit.”“Yes, sir.”“Second, verify Elsa’s last three reports. Cross-reference them with the footage from the east hallway. I want to know who she’s talking to.”He paused. “You don’t trust her anymore.”I closed the laptop. “I don’t trust anyone.”I stared at the envelope still lying on the desk when the call ended. There was a black, unlabeled, and untouched document except for my fingerprints. It was a symbol, and a warning.Sh