📙 The Iron God Claims His Brother's Ex💌 I stood in the grand throne room, waiting to marry Crown Prince Gideon. As a "Dr...
03/09/2026

📙 The Iron God Claims His Brother's Ex

💌 I stood in the grand throne room, waiting to marry Crown Prince Gideon. As a "Dragonless" noblewoman, this marriage was my only security.

But the doors opened, and Gideon walked in holding my cousin Clarisa's hand.

In front of the entire court, he asked the King to elevate her, a "Dragon-born," and turned to offer me the humiliating position of his secondary consort.

"I know this is unfair, but you will still be a member of the royal family," he said, expecting my tearful gratitude.

I refused and walked out, but when I returned home, my nightmare only worsened.

My grandmother, father, and aunt surrounded me, furiously cursing me for ruining their royal connections.

"You ruined this marriage! Go apologize to the Crown Prince and accept his arrangement!" my father roared.

For eighteen years, my family had treated my "commoner" mother like dirt, while secretly draining her massive merchant dowry to fund their lavish, aristocratic lifestyle.

Now, they wanted to sell me off at a discount just to keep their status, completely disregarding my dignity.

They really thought I was just a weak, obedient girl who would swallow this ultimate betrayal and let them hollow out our lives forever.

They were dead wrong.

I didn't shed a single tear. Instead, I took over my mother's estate, called in every single debt they owed us, and watched the debt collectors strip our manor bare.

As my mother finally handed my father the divorce papers, I ordered a custom "Dragonslayer Gold" sword.

It was time to pay a visit to Gideon's deadliest rival—the Iron-Blooded God of War.

✳️CHAPTER 1:
Seraphina POV:

"I'll force Sera to yield her Viscountess title to you, and she can be our bed-slave," my fiancĂŠ of three years grunted, pinning my cousin heavily against the royal study desk as I watched through the cracked door.

My blood ran ice-cold. Through the narrow gap, I saw Clarisa’s pale blue lace gown crumpled and pushed up her thighs, her fingers digging into Crown Prince Gideon’s broad shoulders.

"But... ah... what if she refuses?" Clarisa whimpered, putting on her best frightened-rabbit act even amidst her breathy moans.

"She's just a cold-blooded Dragonless," Gideon sneered, the heavy, breathless gasps echoing in the room. "She's so obsessed with me, she'll do whatever I say. You're the one carrying my pureblood heir."

"Oh, Gideon... you're so bad," Clarisa panted. Suddenly, her light blue eyes fluttered open, locking directly onto the crack in the door.

She saw me.

Beneath her pitiful, victimized facade, a malicious smirk curled her lips. She wrapped her arms tighter around Gideon's neck, letting out a loud, exaggerated moan of pleasure, putting on a show just for me.

I had practically emptied half my mother's fortune for that title. I had saved her life during the dragon hunt just days ago. And this was my reward?

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply raised my foot and kicked the heavy oak door open.

Bang!

The door slammed against the wall. The two figures on the desk froze.

Clarisa shrieked, scrambling to smooth down her ruined skirt. Gideon cursed violently, stumbling backward and frantically adjusting his disheveled clothes, his face flushed with a mix of lingering lust and sudden panic.

I stood there in my elegant gown—conspicuously absent of the scale embroidery that marked one as Dragon-born—watching them like they were two pieces of trash rotting in the gutter.

In a split second, Gideon masked his shame. He hurriedly smoothed his hair, adjusted his cuffs, and walked toward me with a sickeningly self-righteous expression, as if he hadn't just been caught red-handed betraying me.

"Don't overreact, Sera. This is nothing but a loveless breeding duty."

These were the first words he chose to say to me.

"Sera, my heart belongs entirely to you," Gideon murmured, his sky-blue eyes trying to look sincere. "But the kingdom needs a pure Dragon-born heir. Clarisa's pregnancy secures the royal bloodline. I swear, I will only have this one child with her."

He leaned in closer, oblivious to the absolute disgust radiating from my pores. "To make the court accept her and our child, she needs a respectable status. I need you to be reasonable. I need you to voluntarily yield the Viscountess title to her."

I stared at him. He was casually asking me to hand over the very thing I had sacrificed my mother's fortune for, right after I caught him rolling around on a desk with another woman.

"But don't worry, my love," he continued, acting as if he were bestowing a great honor upon me. "I have already arranged for you to be my secondary consort. You will still be by my side."

The whispers of the nobility who had started gathering in the hallway buzzed around me like venomous gnats. They had followed the noise, and they didn't bother to lower their voices.

"Look at her. The Dragonless actually caught them in the act." "What a joke. A woman with cold blood and no dragon flame, dreaming of the throne." "Belonging in the trash, yet dreaming of the sky. Now she has to hand her title over to her cousin. How pathetic!"

Every word was a poisoned needle. Clarisa stood behind Gideon, squeezing out a few crocodile tears, but the smirk on her lips was unmistakable. Since childhood, she had used her Dragon-born status to steal everything from me. Now, she thought she had stolen my future.

Gideon looked at me, waiting for my tears. He thought he was offering me a lifeline, and I was supposed to bow my head, play the humble Dragonless, and be grateful.

I lifted my head, met Gideon's arrogant gaze, and spoke one clear, calm word.

"No."

The fake pity on Gideon's face froze, replaced by astonishment and disbelief. He clearly hadn't expected me to refuse.

I didn't spare him, or the half-dressed Clarisa, another glance. I straightened the spine I had once bent for him, performed a flawless, mocking curtsy, and turned.

The sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor was exceptionally clear. Each step was a declaration of my break from him.

Without looking back, I walked straight out of this gilded cage.

My personal maid, Ginny, was waiting anxiously at the end of the hall. Seeing me emerge, the worry on her face deepened.

"Miss, what happened?"

"Ginny," I interrupted, my voice laced with a newfound, icy resolve. "Go find Mrs. Gable immediately. Tell her to bring every single ledger of my mother's dowry and the Sinclair family accounts to my room tonight."

For years, my mother and I had played the accommodating roles. We let them bleed our wealth dry, hoping for a shred of genuine affection. Instead, they took everything we gave and betrayed me on a desk behind my back.

They thought I was just a weak, Dragonless girl they could bully into submission. They were wrong. I knew exactly how my greedy family and this shameless prince would try to pressure me tonight, and I was going to prepare a welcoming gift they would never forget.

✳️CHAPTER 2:
Seraphina POV:

The carriage stopped in front of Silverwood Manor. Looking at the familiar mansion, for the first time, I felt it was an exquisite cage, and I, the prey trapped within. The grand estate, funded entirely by my mother's dowry, now looked like a bloated leech, gorging itself on our blood.

I wanted to head straight to my room to prepare for my counterattack, but before I could even reach the stairs, a servant arrogantly blocked my path. "The Matriarch demands your presence in the dining hall immediately. The family is waiting."

I sneered inwardly. Waiting to devour me, no doubt. I changed my direction and walked toward the dining hall.

The room was filled with a stuffy fragrance, my grandmother's favorite expensive incense used to display her noble taste. She sat ramrod straight in the main seat, her hand resting on the ebony cane that symbolized her power. Her face was as dark as a stormy sky.

My aunt, Beatrice, Clarisa's mother, sat on a nearby chair. She didn't even bother dabbing her eyes; the malicious glee on her face was completely undisguised.

"You have the face to come back!" my grandmother slammed her cane on the floor with a dull thud as soon as I entered. "Do you have any idea what you've done in the palace today? You fool!"

Beatrice immediately chimed in, her tone dripping with venom. "Seraphina, how could you publicly refuse the Crown Prince's grace? That was the position of a secondary consort! A position countless noble girls dream of, and a Dragonless like you should be on your knees thanking the gods for it! It's the only way trash like you could ever enter the royal court."

I stood at the end of the long table, meeting her gaze coldly. "If being a royal bed-slave is such a high honor, Aunt Beatrice, why didn't you offer yourself? I'm sure your 'pure' blood would make you an excellent concubine."

Beatrice gasped, her face turning purple. "How dare you speak to your elders like that!"

My grandmother scolded sharply, "You ruined this marriage! Clarisa is a Dragon-born! She is destined for greatness. You were supposed to step aside gracefully and support her with your mother's wealth. Instead, you threw a childish tantrum! You will go back to the palace tomorrow, beg on your knees, and accept the consort position for the sake of our family's glory!"

I sneered inwardly, the sound chilling the room. "Family glory? You mean selling me off to maintain your lavish lifestyle. You speak of my 'lowly' bloodline, yet you have no problem using my mother's money to buy the very custom silk on your back."

My calmness enraged my grandmother even more. Her face flushed. "What is this attitude? No remorse! You owe this family your life! It is your duty as a daughter to sacrifice for us!"

The words were like a poisoned barb, but they couldn't hurt me anymore. I just felt tired. Arguing with these hyenas was pointless.

"My duty is done," I said, word by word. "My own affairs, I will decide for myself."

My grandmother laughed as if she'd heard the world's biggest joke. "You'll decide? What will you use to decide? The food you eat, the clothes you wear, everything you use—isn't it all given to you by the family? If you leave the Sinclair house, you won't survive a single day!"

Those words woke me up. That's right, what did I have?

I had what my mother, Eleanor Riverstone, brought into this family when she married—a dowry large enough to buy ten Silverwood Manors. For years, my mother, because of her "Dragonless" commoner status, had been scorned and exploited in this house. Her fortune was used by the family like a personal treasury.

I looked at my grandmother's face, twisted with anger, and for the first time, I felt no fear, only a cold calculation.

I stopped arguing with them and simply turned to leave the dining hall, completely ignoring her authority.

"Stop!" my grandmother roared from behind me. "You are not to leave this room without my permission! If you walk out that door, you will get nothing from this family!"

I didn't stop. Beatrice tried to grab me, but I shot her a cold look, and her outstretched hand froze in mid-air.

I was about to push open the heavy oak doors, ready to leave this suffocating room behind. But before my hand could touch the wood, another voice rang out, heavy with a hypocritical, false authority.

✳️CHAPTER 3:
Seraphina POV:

"Enough!"

My father, Lord Carlisle Sinclair, slammed his hand on the table, the plates clattering loudly. He sat at the head of the table, his expression as grim as my grandmother's. He was a low-ranking "Dragon-born" with a mediocre bloodline, and the thing he cared about most in his life was the Sinclair family's noble title. He put on his best 'concerned father' face, though his eyes were cold.

He cleared his throat, and all eyes focused on him. "Seraphina," he began in a fake, disappointed tone, "I've heard about what happened today. You were too impulsive. Gideon is the Crown Prince. You must understand that a Dragonless cannot be his official wife. He was generous enough to offer you a place by his side."

I turned back around, looking at him with utter disgust. "Generous? Father, are you referring to my refusal to become the Crown Prince's plaything?"

My words made the atmosphere at the table even colder. My father's face turned the color of liver. He snapped, dropping the loving father act. "Watch your words! That is the Crown Prince! Your mother's common blood has made you insolent!"

My grandmother snorted coldly. "Just like your commoner mother. No noble decorum."

My third uncle, Julian, and his wife, Martha, kept their heads down, not daring to speak. Their branch of the family was not well-off and had little standing.

My father took a deep breath, trying to summon the authority of the head of the house. "The family has already decided. You must go and apologize to the Crown Prince and accept his arrangement. This is for the honor of the Sinclair family."

"The family's honor?" I walked slowly back toward the table, leaning forward to look straight into his eyes. "Since you despise my mother's 'common' blood so much, Father, why did you marry her?"

The table went dead silent.

I didn't let him answer. "Let me remind you. Eighteen years ago, your noble family was practically begging on the streets. You were dying of a dragon-rot infection, and you couldn't even afford the basic herbs. My mother, the heiress of the Riverstone Guild, saved your life and paid your debts. You had nothing to offer but a worthless, empty noble title. You married her because you were a starving beggar who hit the jackpot."

Carlisle's face turned the color of raw liver. "You ungrateful bitch!"

I smiled, a chilling, venomous smile. "Every single piece of bread you eat, every stone of this manor, is paid for by the 'lowly' woman you despise. If it weren't for my mother's gold, Father, your bones would have turned to dust in a pauper's grave by now."

The words were like a resounding slap across my father's and grandmother's faces. Beatrice's face turned pale as well.

My father slammed his hand on the table again. "Silence! You unfilial daughter! Since your mother's property was married into the Sinclair family, it is the family's property!"

I laughed, a cold, chilling laugh. "Is that so? I don't recall my maternal grandfather—the head of the Riverstone Guild—agreeing to gift his assets to the Sinclair family."

The name "Riverstone Guild" made everyone at the table change their expression. They knew what that name meant—a commercial network spanning the southern part of the kingdom, a fortune that could buy a country.

My father's bravado instantly deflated. His lips moved, but he couldn't form a word.

A flash of panic crossed my grandmother's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by ferocity. "Are you threatening us? Seraphina, don't forget your surname is Sinclair!"

I straightened up, looking down at them all. "I have never forgotten. But I also remember that my mother's surname is Riverstone."

"I'm finished," I said, my gaze sweeping over the shocked, angry, and fearful faces around the table. "Please, enjoy your meal."

This time, when I turned and left the dining hall, no one dared to stop me. I left a room full of dead silence behind me.

I knew this dinner was my declaration of war. They thought they could still oppress me and force me to submit as they always had. They were wrong. From now on, I set the rules of the game.

I returned to my room. Ginny, as instructed, had already placed the inventory of my mother's dowry and copies of the family's account books from over the years on my desk.

Mrs. Gable stood respectfully to the side. She was one of my mother's most loyal servants.

"Miss, everything is ready," she said.

I nodded, sat down, and began to leaf through the accounts. It was all there in black and white—how the Sinclair family had squandered my mother's fortune over the years. My eyes grew colder as I scanned the entries. They had not only used my mother's money, but had also accumulated a massive debt to the Riverstone Guild.

The numbers in those books held the power to destroy the Sinclair family entirely. I just needed to convince the one person who could authorize the killing blow: my mother.

⛽ read the full story👇
https://eng.moboreader.com/1No9x7/246DWG

📒 One Wrong Night with the Ice God⚘️I woke up naked in a luxury hotel room next to a stranger, my memory of the previous...
03/09/2026

📒 One Wrong Night with the Ice God

⚘️I woke up naked in a luxury hotel room next to a stranger, my memory of the previous night completely erased.

It didn't take long to uncover the horrifying truth: my own stepmother and stepsister had spiked my drink.

They didn't just want to destroy my reputation; they orchestrated this to package me up and sell me off. My father's company was on the verge of collapse, and they planned to force me into an arranged marriage with Timothy Carlson, a notorious hockey enforcer with a history of domestic abuse, just to get his family's investment.

My own father agreed to sacrifice me without hesitation. Desperate, I begged my amnesiac ex-boyfriend for help, only to watch him hold my stepsister's hand and coldly tell me my life was not his problem.

I was completely abandoned by everyone I trusted, pushed into a suffocating trap woven by my family's greed.

How could they treat me like a piece of meat to be fed to a monster? Did they really think I would just lie down and accept a life of domestic hell?

I refused to be their sacrificial lamb.

To destroy their plan, I made a reckless gamble and posted an anonymous ad online, offering generous compensation for a stranger to legally marry me.

But when I arrived at the cafe to interview the candidates, they had all mysteriously vanished, replaced by a tall figure who trapped me in the corner booth.

"Since you've already paid," the stranger from the hotel room whispered, his blue eyes gleaming with danger. "Shouldn't I provide a service that's worth the money?"

✳️CHAPTER 1:
SHEILA POV:
A burning sensation pulled me from a hazy, feverish dream. My head throbbed.
I smelled a strange cologne, a mix of alcohol and musk that didn't belong to my ex-boyfriend, Nolan.
The ceiling was unfamiliar. A massive crystal chandelier stabbed my eyes with harsh light. This wasn't my room.
I looked down and a choked gasp escaped me — I was completely naked.
My clothes, the dress I'd worn last night, lay crumpled on the floor next to a stranger's suit.
My head snapped to the other side of the bed. A man's steady breathing filled the silence. His back was to me, broad and solid, his muscles sculpted like a star athlete's.
A sliver of sunlight cut through the curtains, catching the gold in his hair. My heart hammered against my ribs. Who was he?
Fragments of last night flooded my mind. My stepsister Rita, handing me a glass of champagne. I saw my beloved Nolan on the dance floor… I wanted to catch up to him… and then what?
In the fog of memory, I seemed to recall grabbing Nolan's arm, crying in his arms, him leading me back to a room… I had mistaken this man for Nolan.
My hand trembled as I reached out, needing to touch that figure.
Just as my fingertips were about to make contact, the man rolled over, facing me.
I stopped breathing. The face was beautiful, like a Renaissance sculpture — but completely, utterly strange. Deep-set eyes, a straight nose, a firm, sculpted mouth.
Definitely not Nolan. My mind went blank. The man I had mistaken, the man I had… he was a total stranger.
Shame and fear crashed over me like a tidal wave. An uncontrollable scream tore from my throat.
The man's brow furrowed at the sound. He slowly opened his eyes.
They were a startling ice-blue, as cold and remote as a polar glacier, now clouded with the haze of sleep.
He looked at me, the confusion fading fast, replaced by a flicker of annoyance and something that looked like mockery.
"What's with the screaming?" His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, thick with the laziness of a hangover. "You weren't this shy last night when you were climbing me like a wildcat."
His words hit me like a slap. Heat flooded my face.
I snatched the comforter, pulling it tight against my chest, my body shaking with a mixture of rage and humiliation.
He propped himself up on one elbow, the sheet sliding down to reveal a chest and abdomen etched with lean muscle. Faint, angry scratches marred the skin.
The marks seared my eyes. My handiwork, no doubt.
"I... how did I get here?" I asked, my voice a pathetic tremble.
He raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic curve to his lips. "You're asking me? Who was it in the elevator, throwing herself into my arms and crying 'don't go'?"
"I... I didn't!" I blurted out, even though my memory was a chaotic blur.
A short, dismissive laugh escaped him. "Oh? Should I help you remember? You even tried to take my clothes off."
His words choked me. I was speechless, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
The humiliation peaked. I swung my arm, mustering all my strength to slap his handsome, hateful face.
"You bastard!" My shout came with the swing.
His eyes turned cold, but he didn't flinch, as if he was waiting for the impact.
My hand froze in mid-air. I suddenly realized I didn't even know this bastard's name, and my life as I knew it was already ruined by him.

✳️CHAPTER 2:
SHEILA POV:
His hand shot out, catching my wrist in a grip like a steel clamp. I couldn't move.
"Trying to hit me?" His ice-blue eyes held no warmth, only a detached, playful curiosity. "With that little strength? Didn't you eat?"
I struggled to pull my hand back, but he was immovable. The motion only brought us closer.
I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the long sweep of his lashes. His breath, smelling of mint toothpaste, ghosted across my face.
The intimacy of it was another layer of humiliation. I turned my head away, refusing to look at him.
As I thrashed, the comforter I was clutching slipped. It fell away with a soft whoosh, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze once more.
A small gasp escaped me. My other hand flew to grab the fabric, my face burning so hot I thought it might combust.
He seemed to freeze for a second, his eyes raking over me. The look was direct, invasive, like I was a piece of property being appraised.
Then he released my wrist and leaned back against the headboard, an amused spectator at my one-woman disaster.
I scrambled to wrap myself in the comforter again, bundling it around me like a mummy, and retreated to the far corner of the bed, a cornered animal.
"Forget everything that happened last night," I bit out, the words tasting like acid. "Nothing happened between us."
I didn't dare look at him. My eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for my dress.
I scrambled off the bed, snatched the crumpled fabric from the floor, and turned my back to him, fumbling to put it on as fast as I could.
The zipper was in the back. I clawed at it, my fingers clumsy and useless. I was close to tears.
A rustling sound came from behind me. He was getting out of bed.
My entire body went rigid. I could feel him approaching, each footstep a hammer blow against my heart.
A pair of warm, large hands landed on my back. He gently pulled the zipper up.
His fingertips brushed against my skin, sending an unwanted shiver through me.
"All zipped up," he murmured, his voice low in my ear. "Can we talk now?"
I spun around, putting distance between us, my eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I have nothing to talk to you about."
He had pulled on his pants, his upper body still bare, a distracting display of sculpted muscle. He took a cigarette from a pack in his suit pocket, lighting it but not smoking, just holding it between his fingers.
"Is that so?" He blew out a stream of white smoke. "A girl spends the night in a hotel with a strange man. You think there's nothing to talk about?"
"What do you want? Money?" I sneered. It was the only explanation that made sense.
His eyes, which had been lazily amused, turned instantly cold. "What did you say?"
He stalked toward me, the sheer force of his presence backing me up until my back hit the cold, unyielding wall.
He leaned in, planting his hands on either side of my head, trapping me between his arms and the wall.
"Look at me," he commanded. "And say it again."
I met his gaze defiantly, but I saw a flicker of real, insulted anger in their depths.
Just when I thought he would explode, he suddenly smiled, a chilling expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"Since you think we need a solution," he said, his gaze locked on mine, enunciating every word. "Then let's get married."
I stared at him, certain I had misheard. "What... what did you say?"
"I said, I'll marry you. Take responsibility." He repeated it, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.
Absurd. The sheer absurdity of it all crashed over me. I started to laugh, a hysterical, broken sound that brought tears to my eyes.
"Responsibility? Who do you think you are? You think a ring is going to fix this?" I shot back, my voice sharp with scorn. "You're just trying to find another way to take advantage of me!"
He watched my hysterical display, his expression becoming unreadable, and he didn't deny my accusation. It only confirmed my deepest fear: this man, from head to toe, was a massive conspiracy.

✳️CHAPTER 3:
SHEILA POV:
He didn't press closer. Instead, he straightened up, pulling a black card from his wallet in a smooth, practiced motion.
He tucked it into the strap of my dress. The cold, sharp edge of the card against my skin made me flinch.
His fingers brushed my collarbone, a deliberate, lingering touch. His eyes were full of a meaning I didn't want to understand. "When you figure it out, call this number."
With that, he turned, grabbed his suit jacket from the floor, and walked out of the room without a backward glance.
The click of the closing door echoed in the sudden, deafening silence, leaving only the frantic drumming of my own heart.
I slid down the wall, my strength gone, and hugged my knees. My body was still trembling.
I pulled out the card. It was pure black, with a single name, "Shane Montgomery," and a phone number embossed in gold foil.
I ran into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the scalding water beat down on me. I scrubbed my skin over and over until it was red and raw, as if I could wash away the memory of his touch, of the entire night.
In the mirror, I saw the dark, ugly bruises on my neck and collarbone. The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free.
I sank to the tiled floor and sobbed, for my lost innocence, for my trampled dignity.
As I cried, a memory flashed in my mind: last night, just before I lost consciousness, the strange, triumphant smile on my stepsister Rita Kowalski's face as she handed me that glass of champagne.
A jolt went through me, sharp and clarifying. The drink! The problem was in the drink!
I remembered the sudden, intense heat that had spread through my body after I drank it, the dizzying loss of control.
I was drugged. Rita drugged me.
Rage and hatred erupted like a volcano. It was her again! Six months ago, she was the one who took advantage of Nolan Sullivan's car accident and his resulting amnesia, lying and claiming to be his girlfriend, stealing him from me.
I had thought it was just a tragic accident, that Nolan had simply forgotten me. Now, I saw it all. It was all part of Rita's meticulous plan.
Stealing my love wasn't enough. Now she had to resort to this disgusting method to ruin my reputation completely.
I shot to my feet, turning off the water. I dried myself with a towel, my eyes turning cold and hard.
I couldn't be weak anymore. I wouldn't let her win.
I dressed, then picked up my clutch from the floor, checking its contents. Phone, wallet... everything was there.
My eyes fell on the black card I had thrown away.
I hesitated for a moment, then walked over and bent down to pick it up.
I didn't know how this man, Shane, fit into Rita's scheme, but he had to be a part of it.
I had to figure this out.
I composed myself, applying makeup with a steady hand, covering the exhaustion on my face and the marks on my neck.
The girl in the mirror was no longer frightened and helpless. Her eyes were filled with the fire of revenge.
I walked out of the hotel room. The sunlight was blinding. I squinted, adjusting.
I pulled out my phone. A dozen missed calls from my father.
I took a deep breath, ignored them, and called an Uber.
Sheila Hayes, you can't be a sacrificial lamb anymore. From this day on, you will make everyone who hurt you pay.
The car headed toward the familiar Hayes residence, but I knew what awaited me wasn't a safe harbor. It was a cage of predators. And I had to find a weapon before I was devoured.

⛽ read the full story👇
https://eng.moboreader.com/1Nnc8L/246DWD

📒 Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King⚘️I knelt on the cold stone of the Dragon God Altar, waiting to marry Lord H...
03/09/2026

📒 Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King

⚘️I knelt on the cold stone of the Dragon God Altar, waiting to marry Lord Harper Carney. It was my only chance to escape the gilded cage of my family.

But when Harper finally arrived, he wasn't alone. His arm was wrapped tightly around my cousin, Hettie.

Right in front of the entire court, he coldly announced that our marriage was a mistake.

Hettie leaned into his embrace, wearing a triumphant smile while playing the innocent victim.

The assembled nobles openly jeered at me. They mocked my greatest failing—that I was a worthless "Dragonless" born without the inner fire.

My own father was furious, not at them, but at me. He demanded I go to Hettie's estate and beg for her forgiveness.

When I refused, he threatened to cut off all my funds and revoke my only job at the Royal Scribes' Office.

I was publicly abandoned, stripped of my dignity, and left with absolutely nothing.

I didn't cry, and I didn't scream. Why should I be the one to apologize when they were the ones who betrayed me?

For years, I had endured their abuse, treated like a pawn to be sacrificed at will. But looking at their smug faces, my despair turned into cold resolve.

I took off my betrothal coronet and dropped it at Harper's feet, publicly nullifying the contract myself.

I thought I would have to face the ruin alone, until a mysterious, powerful man with burning golden eyes stepped out of the shadows.

"Marry me," he said. "I will be your shield, and we will crush them together."

✳️CHAPTER 1:
Addison Jordan POV:
I stood before the Dragon God Altar, the silk of my white gown whispering against my skin. It felt like a lie.
The murmur of the crowd was a physical thing, hundreds of pairs of eyes pressing into my back. Each whisper was a tiny needle.
The ceremonial fires had been lit for an hour.
My fiancĂŠ, Lord Harper Carney, was late.
My fingernails dug into my palms. The sharp, clean pain was an anchor in the rising tide of humiliation. It was the only thing that felt real.
A ripple of movement went through the crowd. A gasp.
My head snapped up. Hope, sharp and foolish, pierced through the dread.
I saw him then, cutting a path through the assembled nobility. But he wasn't alone.
His arm was wrapped tight around my cousin, Lady Hettie Conway. Her smile was sickeningly sweet, the triumphant bloom of a well-tended w**d.
Every sound in the grand hall—the crackling fires, the rustling silks, the whispers—vanished. All I could hear was the frantic, desperate hammering of my own heart against my ribs.
They walked toward me, each step a deliberate desecration of what was supposed tobe my sacred moment. They were walking on my dignity, grinding it into the cold stone floor.
Hettie leaned into Harper's side, her gaze a cloying mix of pity and pride. "Cousin," she purred, her voice just loud enough to carry. "I'm so sorry we're late."
The victory in her tone was a dagger, twisted with practiced grace.
"Harper loves me," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that everyone could hear. She tilted her head, showing off the necklace she wore. The starlight pendant. The one I had designed. The one meant for the Lady of House Carney. "You should be happy for us."
I looked at Harper. The man who had sworn his future to me just last week. His face held no guilt. Only impatience and a flicker of contempt.
"Addison," he said, his voice cold and dismissive. "It is what it is."
"Our betrothal is at an end."
The words were a thunderclap in the sudden silence. I was now officially the greatest joke in the capital.
I could feel the shock, quickly followed by the delicious, hidden delight of the crowd. A scandal was always more entertaining than a ceremony.
I forced my spine straight. I would not crumble. Not for them.
I met his gaze, my own as cold as the grave. "Lord Carney," I said, my voice steady. "I thank you for showing me your true character."
"From this moment, there is nothing between us."
Hettie's smile faltered. She had expected tears. Pleading.
Harper's brow furrowed, his pride stung by my composure. "Who do you think you are?" he sneered, his voice laced with venom. "You're a dragonless woman. Without the protection of my house, you are nothing."
I didn't answer. There was nothing left to say.
I turned my back on them, on the life that had just been stolen from me.
And as I turned, my eyes scanned the edge of the crowd, searching for an escape. My gaze snagged on a figure standing alone in the shadows of a great pillar, apart from the gossiping throng.
He was tall, his silhouette a stark cut of darkness against the flickering torchlight.
The light was too dim to see his face clearly, but I could see his eyes. They were the color of molten gold.
His gaze cut through the crowd, through the noise and the spectacle. It held no pity, no mockery. It was a deep, searing regard that seemed to see straight through the shattered facade to the wreck beneath.
For a single, bizarre moment, the frantic rhythm of my heart steadied. It was like finding a solid piece of rock in the middle of a churning, frozen sea.
He just watched me. As if he were the only other person in the room, the sole witness to my public ex*****on.
Hettie's shill voice cut through the air behind me, unwilling to let me have the last word. "A dragonless nobody, abandoned at the altar! You're worthless now, Addison!"
My feet faltered for a second.
Then I walked faster, fleeing the whispers, the stares, the ruin of my life.
But the stranger's gaze followed me, a brand of heat on the back of my neck.

✳️CHAPTER 2:
Addison Jordan POV:
I fled down the altar steps, the sound of my own breathing harsh in my ears. The laughter and whispers of the crowd felt like a physical pursuit.
A wave of cloying perfume washed over me, and Hettie caught up, blocking my path. Her face was a mask of false concern that made my stomach churn.
"Cousin, don't be like this. I know you're upset," she began, her voice dripping with counterfeit sympathy. "But you can't blame Harper. Who would want to marry a dragonless woman, whose blood runs cold?"
The term was a common slur for those of us who couldn't transform. A reminder that I was lesser. Incomplete.
I stopped, my gaze flat and empty. "Move, Lady Conway. We have nothing more to say to each other."
My coldness seemed to finally crack her facade. The feigned sweetness vanished, replaced by the raw, ugly spite I knew so well. "You think you're still the high and mighty daughter of House Jordan? You're a public disgrace! A joke!"
She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss meant only for me. "Everything that was yours will soon be mine. Your chambers, your status, Father's favor."
Her words were poison, meant to find purchase in my deepest insecurities. But the part of me that could feel was already numb.
A thin, cold smile touched my lips. "Is that so? Then you had best pray that stolen things bring you luck."
I pushed past her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a fight. I knew any reaction, any anger, would only feed her triumph.
I finally escaped the main hall, finding refuge in a quiet, deserted corridor. The sudden silence was a relief, but it couldn't quiet the storm inside me.
A low, resonant voice spoke from behind me.
"She's wrong."
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. It was him. The man from the shadows.
He stepped out of the pillar he'd been standing in, his tall frame seeming to shrink the corridor. Up close, his eyes were even more arresting—a pure, liquid gold that was the legendary mark of a pure-blood dragon.
A jolt of alarm went through me. I took an instinctive step back. "Who are you?"
He didn't answer, just closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate strides. He moved with a predator's grace, utterly silent.
I caught his scent then—a strange, clean smell of ozone after a lightning strike, mixed with something ancient, like smoke and hot metal. It wasn't a cologne. It was the scent of power.
He stopped three paces from me, his golden gaze intense. "You are not worthless, Lady Jordan. Your value is far beyond their comprehension."
I stared at him, speechless. In a day filled with betrayal and scorn, he was the first person to offer a single word of anything else.
I took a moment to truly look at him. He wore a simple, dark tunic, impeccably tailored but unadorned with the crest of any house I recognized. Everything about him screamed power, but a quiet, restrained power, unlike the flashy peacocks of the capital.
"I don't understand your meaning, my lord," I said, my voice tight with caution, falling back on the formality of court.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He didn't seem to mind my wariness. "It's quite simple. I saw your predicament. And I heard their foolishness."
His golden eyes held a glint of something I couldn't decipher. "And I, as it happens, have a predicament of my own."
"I was also stood up by my intended bride today."
He said it so casually, as if discussing the weather.
My jaw dropped. I couldn't form a coherent thought.
He held out a hand toward me. It was a large hand, strong and calloused, a warrior's hand. "Since we have both been so inconveniently abandoned," he said, his voice a low rumble.
"Perhaps we should make a pair."
My mind went completely blank. The world tilted on its axis.
"Marry me, Lady Jordan," he said, his gaze locking with mine. His tone was calm, but it held a weight, a command, that was impossible to ignore.
"In return, I will be your shield. I will stand between you and all the storms to come."
The proposal was madness. Utter insanity.
But as I stood there, stripped of my future, my name, my dignity, his offer wasn't a proposition.
It was a lifeline.
I stared into the bottomless gold of his eyes, my heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm.

✳️CHAPTER 3:
Addison Jordan POV:
I stared at the man before me, his outrageous proposal hanging in the air. It was a mad gamble. But I was a gambler who had just lost everything. I had no more chips to lose.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the chaos in my mind into some semblance of order. "I don't even know your name, my lord," I managed, my voice barely a whisper.
He seemed to have expected the question. His golden eyes were calm, unreadable. "Albion Ballard. I am a lord from the borderlands."
A border lord. I repeated the words in my head. It made sense. It explained the raw, untamed power that clung to him, so different from the polished, perfumed nobles of the capital.
I needed a shield. An identity that would free me from the clutches of House Jordan and the lingering stain of the Carneys. He needed a wife to solve his own "predicament."
"What are your terms?" I asked. That was the crucial question.
"A contract marriage," he replied, his voice crisp and direct. "We will be husband and wife in name, to satisfy the world. In private, we are allies. We do not interfere in each other's lives."
Do not interfere. The words were a balm to my raw nerves. My greatest fear was trading one cage for another.
I met his intense gaze. "If I agree, I need your word. This marriage will not be another set of chains."
"You have my word," he said, his voice low and certain. "You will have the freedom you desire. The contract will last until we mutually agree to end it."
I was silent for a long moment. My father's cold face flashed in my mind, then Harper's betrayal, Hettie's triumphant smirk. I could not, would not, be their victim any longer.
This was a leap into the unknown, but staying put was a death sentence.
I made my decision. I raised my hand and placed it in his outstretched palm.
His hand was warm and dry, enveloping mine. A strange, unexpected current of heat flowed from his skin to mine, chasing away some of the bone-deep chill that had settled in me. It was the first warmth I had felt all day.
"I accept, Lord Ballard."
He closed his hand around mine, a firm, possessive grip. The corner of his mouth lifted in that ghost of a smile. "A wise choice, Lady Jordan."
He didn't release my hand. Instead, he turned and led me back towards the Dragon God Altar. We weren't heading for the main stage, but to a small, secluded chamber where an elder sat recording the day's betrothals.
The elder looked up, his face a mask of shock as he saw me—the abandoned bride—now on the arm of a stranger.
Albion wasted no time on pleasantries. He reached into his tunic and produced a heavy, dark metal signet ring, pressing it onto the elder's desk. It was carved with a complex dragon motif I didn't recognize.
The moment the elder saw the signet, his shock morphed into pure, undiluted awe. He scrambled to his feet, bowing his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest. "My lord," he stammered.
My own confusion deepened. What was that signet that it could command such reverence? But this was not the time for questions.
Under the elder's trembling guidance, we completed the marriage contract under the silent watch of the Dragon God statue. There were no guests, no blessings. Just cold, formal vows and the scratch of a quill on parchment.
When my name, Addison Jordan, was written next to Albion Ballard, a wave of dizziness washed over me. Hours ago, I was to be Lady Carney. Now, I was Lady Ballard.
The ceremony was over in minutes. Albion handed me a copy of the parchment. "Keep this. It is your guarantee."
I took the heavy document, my new reality feeling fragile as dried ink.
We walked out of the altar together. Most of the nobles had dispersed, eager to spread the day's gossip.
"To avoid unnecessary complications," Albion said suddenly, his voice low. "I suggest we keep our arrangement private for now."
That suited me perfectly. "I agree," I said quickly.
He gave me a sideways glance. "You are the new project director for the Sterling Guild's new development, are you not? The handover must be keeping you busy."
I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. "How did you know that?" My appointment was official only yesterday, known to no one outside the Guild's highest echelons.
He shrugged, his face giving nothing away. "I happen to know one of the board members." The words came too smoothly—too practiced, like a line he'd rehearsed a hundred times.
Smooth enough that my gut told me it was a lie—a pretty cover for an even prettier truth. But I didn't press. First day of marriage. Pressing felt too serious, too heavy.
It was only then that I realized—this man felt so close, yet so far. Close enough that I could smell the cedar on his cuffs.
Far enough that I had no idea who he really was. Mystery stacked upon mystery, and I didn't even have the strength to lift the first layer.

⛽ read the full story👇
https://eng.moboreader.com/1Ns1Hp/246DWB

Address

Al Rigga
Al Rigga

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when MhelTv posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Business

Send a message to MhelTv:

Shortcuts

Share

Category