Two Hopeless, Four Ruthless

There were two famous deadweights in Kingsgate's high society. One was me, Millie Tanner, the pampered little princess whose only talents were shopping and throwing parties. The other was my childhood friend, Iver Langford, the fragile young heir born with autism and congenital heart failure.

However, my older brother was the most feared name in the underworld, and my second brother was the richest man in the country. Iver's older sister was the undefeated queen of the courtroom, and his second sister was a surgeon whose hands could bring back the dead.

One day, the four of them were chatting over a game of poker. "Raising one hopeless case takes the same effort as two. Might as well pair them off."

Just like that, Iver and I signed the marriage papers. Our married life consisted of maxing out my second brother's credit cards, raiding my older brother's dinner table, and waiting for his sisters to show up with care packages.

That was the routine, until my older brother sent us to attend a banquet at the Crestport tycoon's estate in his place. At the banquet, the tycoon's daughter, Portia Beaumont, waved around a blurry photo taken from behind and insisted I was the other woman who had stolen her boyfriend.

I kept my temper. "You have the wrong person. I'm married, and this is my husband."

Portia lost it on the spot and swung at me. "Married and still out here throwing yourself at men?"

Iver stepped in front of me on instinct and took the slap meant for me. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

She sneered, "Oh, is he slow? His wife's out cheating and he can't even tell, but he still jumps in to protect her? One's a tramp, and the other's an idiot. The perfect match!"

She flicked her wrist, and several bodyguards lunged toward us. "Get them both."

My heart ached as I looked at Iver, and I dialed my older brother's number. "Someone's picking on me."

These people had no idea. Crossing the four terrors of Kingsgate and living to tell about it was one thing. Messing with the two of us was something else entirely.

"Oh, can't win a fight, so you're calling for backup? I heard you on that phone. You called a man, huh?"

Portia let out a mocking laugh. "More like a sugar daddy, I'd bet."

She snatched the phone from my hand and hurled it to the ground. "What, one idiot husband isn't enough for you? How many men have you got stashed on the side?

I stared at the shattered phone on the floor and drew a long breath. "Ms. Beaumont, I'm going to say this one last time. You've got the wrong person. Walk away now and take your people with you. I'll pretend none of this happened."

Portia burst out laughing. She turned to the guests who had gathered to watch the spectacle. "Did you all hear that? Some homewrecking little tramp is telling me to leave!"

A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd.

"Ms. Beaumont, mistresses these days really have no shame."

"Right? She even brought her dimwit husband along as a cover. I've never seen anything like it."

Portia closed the distance in her towering stilettos, each step deliberate. She raised her hand, one manicured nail hovering just short of my nose.

"In Crestport, I am the law. Hit her."

The bodyguards clenched their fists and rushed at me. I squeezed my eyes shut on instinct, but the pain never came.

Iver had thrown himself around me, locking me against his chest with everything he had. "Don't... hit Millie."

His words came out slowly and unevenly, each syllable warbled. He had severe autism, and he did not understand what was happening around him. All he knew was that I could not get hurt, so he held on and refused to let go.

The bodyguards' fists kept landing on his back. Every muffled blow struck something deep inside my chest.

"Iver!" I fought to break free from his arms. "Let go of me! Your heart can't take this!"

Iver shook his head, stubborn as ever. The color had drained from his face, but his arms around me did not loosen by even an inch. "Millie... doesn't hurt. Won't let... Millie hurt. I'll block."

He forced a small smile to reassure me.

He was such a fool. He was shaking from the pain himself, and he was still worried about whether I was hurting.

"Stop! Make them stop!"

His heart could not withstand a beating like this. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, and I whipped around to glare at Portia. "Call them off. If they keep hitting him, he's going to die."

The staff around the room had begun to whisper among themselves.

"That outfit looks like the real thing. She doesn't carry herself like some escort either."

"Quiet. Ms. Beaumont is in a rage right now. You want to be next?"

The Beaumont family's head butler dabbed the cold sweat from his forehead and leaned in carefully. "Ms. Beaumont, this gentleman's complexion doesn't look right. I believe he may have a heart condition. If something were to actually happen..."

Portia slapped him across the face before he could finish. "Shut up. He's an idiot. What's so precious about him?"

She jabbed a finger toward Iver, contempt dripping from every word. "So what if he dies? I could write a check and make the whole thing disappear. Drag these two to the main hall. I want everyone in Crestport to see what happens when someone tries to steal from Portia Beaumont."

The bodyguards seized us and began dragging us toward the main hall. Iver clung to my hand, his fingers ice-cold. His chest heaved violently, and beads of sweat gathered across his forehead.

I thrashed and fought, my heels scraping against the floor with a piercing shriek. "Don't touch him! He has a heart condition! You're going to kill him!"

Portia strode ahead without so much as a backward glance. "Then let him die."