Bankrolled By His Brothers

I stared blankly at the sevenfigure USD offshore account transfer notification that just popped up on my phone screen.

My husband's three billionaire best friends were frantically wiring me money behind his back.

And right now, my husband sat on the couch, wearing a smug smirk about giving me a pitiful allowance.

He believed the instigations of those Wall Street shark brothers of his, convinced I was a gold digger trying to climb the social ladder.

So, he cut off all my black cards, attempting to tame me with this pocket money.

I casually unboxed the limitededition Birkin that required a twomilliondollar purchase history just to touch. The blood drained from his face.

A vein throbbed against his temple as he demanded to know what exactly I sold to get this kind of money.

I blinked innocently. "Darling, from the allowance you give me every month!" He slammed his fist on the table. "I give you two hundred dollars a month!

What the hell is that supposed to cover?" So he actually knew two hundred bucks couldn't cover a damn thing. But that was fine. His best friends would cover the rest.

Chapter 1 I just got back from shopping. The moment I walked through the door, I saw Declan sitting on the couch.

His gaze pinned me to the spot the second the door clicked shut. "Where the hell have you been all day?" I tossed the shopping bags stamped with toptier designer logos directly onto the expensive Persian rug and looked at him provocatively. "Swept through Rodeo Drive.

Got a problem with that?" His brows knitted together. "Shopping again?

The butler said you just bought a whole mountain of things yesterday." "Gideon and the guys were absolutely right about you. You're just a materialistic…" He stopped midsentence.

His eyes locked onto the bag in my hand. "Sloane, you can actually afford haute couture Chanel?

Where did the money in your driedup account come from to get into a VIPonly boutique?" I tilted my head, keeping my expression innocent. "Darling, from the money you give me every month." His jaw tightened. "Don't I know exactly how much I give you?

Two hundred bucks a month!

What the hell is that supposed to cover?" I met his glare. "Darling, didn't you swear up and down before that giving me two hundred dollars in cash a month would be enough for me to grovel in gratitude?

If you know two hundred dollars is nothing, then why did you just call me a materialistic gold digger?" Declan's jaw snapped shut, the contradiction stripping away his high ground.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He shot me a dark look before answering it and storming out of the room. I walked up to my bedroom.

Declan's best friend, Gideon, texted me. [Sloane, did you like what you bought today?] [Do you have enough money left?] Before I could type a reply, Gideon unsent the second message.

My Amex black card account immediately pinged with a twomilliondollar deposit. Makes sense. A real man never asks a woman if she has enough money.

On that front, Declan's best friends did a hell of a lot better than he ever could. Declan and I were college sweethearts. We dated for three years on campus.

When I first met him, he was working a minimumwage shift at the library. Even when we went on dates, he always played the part of a broke college kid.

It wasn't until we graduated and started talking about marriage that I found out he was the heir to a massive fortune. My palms were sweating the first time I met his parents.

I knew filthy rich families had skyhigh standards for their daughtersinlaw. They certainly wouldn't want a girl from a workingclass background like mine.

But to my absolute shock, Declan's parents loved me. They believed I didn't approach Declan for his wealth, and that brought them immense comfort.

Three years of dating, not only was I marrying the man I loved, but I also hit the jackpot finding out he was loaded. Plus, my future inlaws adored me.

At the time, I actually thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Until the eve of our wedding, when I accidentally overheard a conversation between Declan and his frat brothers. Those three were the guys he grew up with.

Gideon took over his family's empire right out of college, turning it into an absolute powerhouse.

Dorian came from a long line of aristocratic artists and was a renowned painter himself.

Then there was Lawson, backed by a terrifying political and business dynasty, making a name for himself as a ruthless power attorney. "Declan, so this is the girl you've been dating for three years in college?

Look at her broke publicschool vibe, she couldn't even touch the threshold of our Ivy League frat.

Are you sure she isn't just gunning for your family trust fund?" The one talking was Gideon.

Chapter 2 Declan froze for a long moment before finally answering. "Gideon, watch your mouth. You guys know my parents cut off my access to the trust fund in college.

How could she possibly be after my money?" Then Dorian casually chimed in. "Declan, didn't you make the papers a few times back then?

What if she knew exactly who you were and played the long game?" "Dorian, don't you start too. Sloane isn't like that." Dorian just smirked, falling silent.

Lawson leaned back, his tone sharp. "Declan, you can never be too careful. You know how it is for families like ours.

Wealth disputes are a nightmare." "What if things go south after two years? She'll walk away with half your empire. I strongly suggest you cover your bases.

Draft an ironclad prenup." "Cut off her financial independence. You know what happened to my old man.

He got cleaned out for tens of millions…" Lawson lived up to his reputation as a ruthless power attorney—every word dripped with cold, corporate calculation.

I didn't stick around to hear the rest. I could somewhat understand his frat brothers looking out for him. But I was foolish enough to believe Declan actually knew my character.

The next morning, Declan and his private legal team marched in and slammed a fiftypage, draconian ironclad prenup onto my dining table.

I stared at the thick stack of papers, my fingernails biting into my palms until the skin nearly broke. "Declan, what the hell is this?

You don't trust me?" Declan's sudden rigid posture proved he hadn't expected me to eavesdrop on his little frat boy summit.

He shifted his weight, refusing to meet my eyes. "Sloane, it's not about trust. It's just protocol for a family like mine.

A prenup is standard procedure." I scoffed. "If you trust me, then why the hell is it 'standard procedure'? Declan, we've been together for three years." "Not three months.

Not three days. Three years and you still treat me like a gold digger?

If this is how it is, the wedding is off." I grabbed the fiftypage insult, shoved it hard against his chest, and stormed out of the house. That night, Declan tracked me down.

He played his part perfectly, begging for forgiveness and swearing he had just lost his mind for a second. He promised to shred the prenup and never bring it up again.

And like a naive fool, I let my guard down and forgave him. I brushed it off as a prewedding hiccup. I had no idea it was just the beginning of my nightmare.

After the wedding, Declan practically forced me to quit my job, using my fragile health as a convenient excuse.

It just so happened the firm I worked for was on the verge of bankruptcy and hadn't made payroll in months anyway.

Once I finally squeezed my back pay out of them, I handed in my resignation, figuring I'd take a short break before hitting the job market again. But I never went back to work.

He waved his hand, silencing me instantly. Declan shut down every opportunity. He insisted that being a stayathome trophy wife was the perfect life.

I stared at him, my jaw tight. "Declan, you know me. I never wanted to be a housewife. I need my own career." But Declan just scoffed. "What's the end goal of a career?

Making money, right? The Declan estate has more than enough money to keep you dripping in diamonds." I didn't waste another breath arguing.

I just started applying for jobs behind his back. But after firing off hundreds of resumes, not a single company called me back. Not one. "Sloane, save your energy.

You won't find a single company in Los Angeles willing to hire you." Looking at his sickeningly smug smirk, the terrifying truth slammed into me.

Chapter 3 "Declan, you blacklisted me? You're shutting me out of the entire industry?" Declan let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Sloane, drop the act.

Isn't this exactly what you wanted? To sit back, relax, and play the untouchable trophy wife?" My brows pulled together.

The muscles in my jaw tightened. "What the hell are you talking about?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper. "After we signed the papers, you went out to celebrate with your girl.

When I pulled up to the curb to pick you up, I heard everything." Declan enunciated every single word, carving them into the air between us. "Your friend told you that you hit the jackpot." "She said you hooked a billionaire cash cow, and that once you divorce me and take half my empire—or bleed me dry while we're married—you'll fund her lifestyle.

And you didn't even defend me. You just laughed and said 'deal'." He scoffed, his gaze raking over me with pure disgust. "You married me for the money, didn't you, Sloane?

You just wanted a massive payout. No wonder you threw such a psychotic fit when my lawyers brought out the prenup." A cold weight settled in my stomach.

I stared at him, my throat suddenly too tight to swallow. He actually believed a stupid, sarcastic joke between girlfriends. "Declan, we were just messing around.

It was a joke." He waved his hand, silencing me instantly. "We're married, Sloane. The prenup was shredded.

You got exactly what you wanted." He leaned against the console table, crossing his arms. "Since all you ever wanted was to be a wealthy socialite, why bother dragging yourself out to work just to put on a pathetic show for me?" The last thread of my patience snapped. "Declan, contact your lawyers to draft the divorce papers immediately!

Since you think I'm a gold digger, we'll see each other in court." "Don't you worry, I don't give a damn about your alimony.

I'll sign a waiver and won't take a single cent of yours. Get out of my sight!" Declan didn't flinch.

He just stared at me, his eyes dead and unreadable. "Showing your true colors so soon?" He adjusted his cuffs, his movements agonizingly slow. "You didn't sign the prenup.

If you walk away with nothing, how will the outside world see the Declan family?

The press will tear my reputation to shreds." He stepped into my space, his shadow swallowing me. "Or is this just phase two of your little master plan?

Play the victim, walk away emptyhanded, and then extort my family for a massive hushmoney payout?" He turned on his heel. "I'm not signing any divorce papers, Sloane.

Drop it." The room spun. A sharp ringing pierced my ears. I stared at the broad set of his shoulders.

Was this really the man I spent three years falling in love with? "Declan, I want a divorce. I'm walking away clean. No settlements.

No compensation." My voice cracked. "We've known each other for three years. Do I really have that little credibility with you?" He stood by the desk.

His knuckles turned stark white as he gripped a gold fountain pen, but he didn't turn around. "I said, I don't agree to a divorce." His voice was pure ice. "I thought I could trust you once, too.

Turns out, this was all premeditated by you." After that night, our marriage flatlined into a bitter, suffocating cold war.

He blacklisted me from every hiring agency in the state and slashed my allowance to a pitiful two hundred dollars a month.

He actually stood there and told me, "You live in a Beverly Hills mansion rentfree. The staff cooks your meals and cleans your messes.

Two hundred bucks is plenty." Just like that, I became the trophy wife of the Declan empire in name only. I had the title. But I didn't have a single dime to my name.

The memories tasted like ash in my mouth. My screen lit up, snapping me back to reality. Gideon had texted again. [Why aren't you answering?

What are you up to?] I quickly typed back: [Just browsing some clothes.] [That reminds me.

You haven't updated your wardrobe in ages.] The next second, another Amex notification dropped. Two million dollars. [The new seasonal collections just dropped.

Go pick out whatever catches your eye. I know you'll look stunning in them.] I stared at the fourmilliondollar balance glowing on my screen.

A slow, sharp smile curved my lips. [I have to lay low for a bit. I bumped into Declan when I got back from my shopping spree today.

He's suspicious.] [He was practically frothing at the mouth, interrogating me about where the money came from.] Chapter 4 The other side went silent for a beat. [Then I'll have my sister buy the clothes and drop them off.

If he asks, just tell him it was a gift from her.] [But Sloane, when exactly are you divorcing Declan?] [Is the heir to the Gideon empire supposed to play the sidepiece forever?] I stared at his text and typed back two simple words: [Hold on.] After all, Gideon wasn't the sidepiece.

He still had the other two guys ahead of him in the queue. Right on cue, a message from Lawson popped up on my screen. [There's an auction in a couple of days.

Care to be my plusone?] [And of course, anything that catches your eye is yours.] This lavish generosity was a far cry from the ruthless attorney who once warned Declan to lock down his assets against me.

Come to think of it, my first real, facetoface interaction with Lawson wasn't at a gala, but at the shelter.

Ever since I started college, I volunteered at a homeless youth shelter in the lower districts every single month.

Even after marrying Declan, when our relationship devolved into a suffocating cold war, I never dropped the habit.

I even scraped together the pitiful allowance Declan tossed at me and donated it straight to the shelter. Because I used to be one of those kids.

I bounced around the foster system until I was eight, when an elderly woman finally took me in. She was a retired teacher. She treated me like her own flesh and blood.

Every cent of my tuition and living expenses was painstakingly saved from her modest pension.

So when I got older, I followed in her footsteps, heading down to the shelter to help kids who were just as lost and broken as I used to be.

You didn't see many young, wealthy guys volunteering down there. So Lawson, tall, striking, and dressed in custom tailoring, stood out among the volunteers like a beacon.

At first, I wanted nothing to do with Declan's frat brother. I kept a wide berth.

I could still clearly hear the cold, calculating words he used to convince Declan to draft that prenup. But to my surprise, Lawson approached me first.

His law firm was partnering with the shelter to sponsor an initiative for autistic youth. He needed an insider to brief him on the kids' specific needs.

I might have despised the man, but the funding was a lifeline for the shelter. I spent the entire afternoon professionally breaking down the logistics for him.

Finally, I closed my folder and met his gaze. "Do you have any other questions?" He stared at me. For a long, heavy moment. "Mrs. Declan… thank you for the thorough briefing.

Allow me to take you out to dinner." I should have flatout refused. First, I was a married woman.

Second, he was my husband's closest friend—the very same man who called me a gold digger behind my back.

But when Lawson casually mentioned he had a reservation for a Michelin threestar Tomahawk steak… I swallowed hard.

That premium Wagyu, sizzling and dripping with juices over a highheat grill… Ever since my black cards got cut off, it had been ages since I tasted actual meat.

That night, sitting across from Lawson, I practically inhaled the food like a starved animal.

Lawson tried to start a conversation a dozen times, and I cut him off every single time. "Oh my god, this is incredible." "Give me a second, let me finish this bite." "Can we order another round of the Wagyu?" Lawson, the ruthless power attorney, spent the entire evening awkwardly managing the table grill just to keep up with my appetite.

It wasn't until I was completely stuffed and sipping my water that I finally looked up at the man across from me. "Mr.

Lawson, thanks for the meal." Lawson chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Does the great CEO Declan know his wife is practically starving?" The napkin paused at my lips.

I carefully lowered it back onto the table. I met his eyes, my voice dripping with cool sarcasm. "Funny you should mention that.

My starving is, to a certain extent, entirely thanks to you, Mr.

Lawson." Chapter 5 The fact that Declan restricted me to a pathetic twohundreddollar monthly allowance was an open secret among the estate staff.

They didn't even bother hiding their contempt anymore. My daily necessities were downgraded to the absolute cheapest garbage.

Declan would never notice, and even if he did, he wouldn't give a damn. I delivered my parting shot, turned on my heel, and walked out.

Honestly, I only showed up to gorge myself on premium Wagyu and throw some shade at Lawson.

But I didn't expect him to actually follow me out onto the sidewalk. "Sloane, Declan doesn't trust you for a second, does he?" Lawson's voice caught me from behind. "Have you ever considered… switching backers?

Say, to me?" I kept my back to him, letting out a dry, mocking scoff. "You're out of your mind." He convinced his frat brother to financially cripple his own wife, then turned around to poach her the second he had the chance.

But his next sentence froze my blood. "I can give you a million dollars a month." I genuinely had zero intention of accepting Lawson's insane offer.

My marriage to Declan might have flatlined into a bitter joke, but my own moral bottom line kept me from crossing that boundary.

But when I pushed open the front doors to the mansion, the massive wallmounted TV was blasting the entertainment headlines.

The head of the Declan Group dropped a cool ten million dollars on a flawless pink diamond necklace for a Hollywood Alister.

The moment the anchor's voice echoed through the foyer, the ambient noise in the room simply ceased to exist.

Declan suffocated me with a twohundreddollar allowance, yet didn't blink at dropping ten million on a rock for another woman.

That night, for the first time since we signed the papers, I sat in the dark living room and waited for him. I needed a reason.

At two in the morning, the heavy oak doors finally swung open. Declan strolled in, reeking of expensive, unfamiliar women's perfume.

He stopped short when he saw me sitting there. "What the hell are you doing down here, Sloane?" "Waiting for you." An unreadable glint flickered in his eyes. "Waiting for what?" I met his gaze, forcing my face into a mask of cold indifference. "Did you buy a tenmilliondollar necklace for another woman?" The faint trace of surprise in his eyes instantly evaporated, replaced by a dark, mocking sneer. "Yeah.

I did. Ten million dollars." "It's already around her neck. What?

You stayed up until two in the morning just to interrogate me about that?" He loosened his silk tie, his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate.

My nails dug into my palms until the skin nearly broke. "Why?" Declan let out a harsh, barking laugh. "What do you mean, 'why'? It's just a tenmilliondollar trinket.

I bought it because I felt like it." "She's a Hollywood Alister, Sloane.

It's not like she's desperate for the money." He took a step closer, his shadow swallowing me. "Don't tell me you're asking why I didn't buy it for you?" "Sloane, take a hard look in the mirror.

Do you even deserve it?

Could you make a fraction of that ten million dollars working your whole pathetic life?" He scoffed, a cruel sneer twisting his features. "You're nothing but a calculating, moneyobsessed gold digger." He turned his back on me and headed for the sweeping marble staircase.

Pausing on the first step, he shot me one last, venomous look. "I can't believe the first time you actually wait up for me, it's to badger me about a necklace.

Sloane, you are exactly the kind of trash I always knew you were." He shook his head. I rarely cried. Bouncing around the foster system hammered an iron core into my chest.

But that night, stumbling down the cold, empty streets of Beverly Hills, the dam finally broke.

The icy wind ripped through my thin jacket, but the bonedeep cold radiated entirely from the dead, hollow space in my chest.

I gripped the address Lawson had given me and showed up at his private estate.

When he opened the door, his eyes widened slightly, taking in my ruined state. "Are you trying to dismiss a beggar with a hundred grand? I'm not that cheap.

I want a million dollars, plus a limitededition Porsche under my name." A trace of feverish obsession flashed in Lawson's dark eyes.

Without a single second of hesitation: "Deal." "I want to see the money hit my account right now." "Not a problem.

I'll have my private wealth manager wire it immediately." Chapter 6 Lawson was the first true aristocrat I ever dealt with intimately.

After spending time with him, I finally grasped the terrifying scale of "old money." Whenever I was with him, price tags on designer bags and haute couture simply ceased to exist.

With a single word from me, he could instantly gut and renovate the entire youth shelter.

At the auction, just because I casually murmured, "I like that," he didn't even blink before raising his paddle, dropping thirty million dollars to win the fiftyfivecarat blue diamond, the "Tear of the Deep," that had the entire room holding its breath.

I grabbed his sleeve, my voice dropping. "Lawson, that's insane. It's too much." Lawson just looked down at me, a soft, indulgent curve to his lips. "It has to be.

I refuse to put cheap trash on you. You deserve the single most precious thing in this room." But that exact moment was snapped by a paparazzo who sneaked into the venue.

The next day, the headline "Lawson Estate Heir Drops $30 Million on Mysterious PlusOne at Sotheby's" completely hijacked Twitter trending and dominated the front pages of every gossip tabloid.

Right at that moment, Lawson and Dorian were in Declan's study, negotiating a corporate merger. The second Declan saw the news alert, he exploded like a rabid lion.

He hurled his expensive crystal whiskey glass against the wall, shattering it to dust, then lunged.

He grabbed Lawson by the lapels of his custom suit and slammed him brutally into the mahogany bookshelf. "Lawson, are you out of your fucking mind?!" Declan spat, the veins pulsing wildly on his neck. "Do you not realize Sloane is my wife?" "You're my goddamn frat brother!

Have you lost your damn mind?!" Hearing the crash, I rushed in and grabbed Declan's arm to pry him off, but he shoved me back hard. "Sloane, stay the hell out of this!" Dorian quickly checked to make sure I wasn't hurt from the shove, then stepped in front of Declan. "Declan, what the hell is going on?

Why are you attacking Lawson?" Declan let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "This bastard Lawson!

He's poaching from his own brother." He glared murderously at Lawson. "Lawson, is there a shortage of women in Beverly Hills?

You just have to sink your teeth into my wife?" Declan turned to Dorian, waiting for him to step in. But all the color drained from Dorian's face.

He stood frozen, his mouth glued shut. A muscle ticked frantically in Declan's jaw as a flicker of raw uncertainty flashed across his eyes. That night, the mansion was dead silent.

Walking past the cracked door of his study, I heard Declan dial Gideon on speakerphone, practically demanding solidarity. But Gideon dropped his usual vicious edge.

His voice drifted through the speaker, hesitant and strained. "Declan, why don't you… just divorce Sloane?

It's not like you even love her." Declan went dead still, the plastic of his phone creaking under the sudden, crushing pressure.

This husband of mine, who hadn't given a single damn about my financial survival for three years of marriage, suddenly ordered his private wealth managers to pull every single one of my bank statements.

Now, Declan sat rigidly across from me at the massive dining table, tracing his finger line by line down my financial records