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The Billionaire Brothers Both Want Their Fat Fake Fiancée
Novelix
Completed
I'm 192 pounds, broke, and almost lose everything — my grandpa's surgery, my dad's restaurant, my future. Then the Wentworth family offers me a deal: fake-engage their heir for one year, and all my problems disappear. Ethan Wentworth is cold, gorgeous, and disgusted by me on sight. Three rules. Don't touch him. Don't call him fiancé. Don't catch feelings. Too bad no one told me about his older brother. Damien Wentworth — the ""bastard heir"" raised overseas — recognizes me the moment we meet. Thirteen years ago, I pulled a drowning boy from a frozen lake with my bare hands. That boy grew up looking for me. Now both brothers want me. The whole school wants me gone. And their mother will burn everything down to keep me away from her sons. They say I have to choose. I say — why?
Chapters (3)
第1章
The Wentworth family bought me for a year.
A full-ride scholarship, my grandpa's surgery bills, and my dad's little barbecue joint that was two months from getting evicted.
In exchange, I had to play fiancée to the Wentworth heir for twelve months.
But nobody told me there was more than one heir.
…
The whole school knows that two Wentworth brothers are fighting over a fat girl.
That fat girl is me.
My name is Tatum Gallagher. I'm nineteen, five-foot-four, a hundred and ninety-two pounds.
When I was five, I was playing in the park and noticed a little boy trapped under the frozen surface of a lake.
His face was swallowed by dark water. His tiny hands were flailing, barely moving.
He was about to die.
I dropped to my stomach on the ice and started punching it with both hands.
My knuckles split open and blood stained the snow, but I kept going until the ice finally cracked. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out.
I was too scared to tell any adults. I watched him cough up water, and then I ran.
As I got older, every girl around me was dainty and delicate. So I learned to hold back. I learned to pretend I didn't notice the way people stared at my body.
What teenage girl doesn't dream of being a delicate little flower, adored by the boy she likes?
That fantasy died on a Saturday afternoon, when a black sedan lost control and came barreling straight toward my dad's restaurant.
The dining room was packed with the lunch crowd. Dad was carrying a cast-iron pot of his signature smoked brisket.
I didn't think. I just ran.
I threw myself in front of the car and slammed both hands onto the hood.
The tires screamed against the pavement.
Two concrete tiles cracked under my feet. The car stopped less than two feet from the front window.
Through the windshield, I could see a white-haired old woman in the backseat, shaking like a leaf.
The next morning, she walked into Gallagher's Grill.
The first thing out of her mouth was:
"Tatum. How would you like to change your life?"
"My grandson needs a fiancée. One year."
Eleanor Wentworth slid a contract across the table.
"For one year, you attend events with him and maintain a stable relationship. In return, the Wentworth family covers your grandfather's entire medical treatment, buys out the lease on your father's restaurant, and pays your remaining three years of tuition at Ridgemont University."
Dad's knuckles went white around his coffee mug.
Grandpa's surgery couldn't wait any longer. The restaurant was three months behind on rent. I'd just gotten my acceptance letter from Ridgemont, but I couldn't even afford the housing deposit.
I read the contract from top to bottom.
"Deal."
Eleanor smiled.
"But I have one condition."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Can you throw in health insurance? Medical bills are insane. I just want to be able to see a doctor without going broke."
Dad kicked me hard under the table.
Eleanor laughed out loud.
By Sunday night, I'm dragging two suitcases up to the Wentworth villa near campus.
The driver offers to help. I tell him I've got it. The second I hoist the suitcase up the front steps, the wheel pops off and rolls straight into the flower bed.
The front door swings open.
Ethan Wentworth stands in the doorway. White shirt unbuttoned to the second button. Hair still damp.
He looks like one of those untouchable dream boys from a TV drama — sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and a gaze that carries just the faintest hint of rich-boy contempt.
He looks me up and down. His eyes travel from my round face, to my waist where my shirt clings a little too tight, and finally land on the broken suitcase handle.
Perfectly measured disgust.
"What did the suitcase do to you?"
"It looked expensive. I got nervous."
Ethan pauses. Like he didn't expect me to talk back.
"Three rules. First — when no one's watching, don't touch me. Second — when the family isn't around, don't call me your fiancé. Third — don't mistake this for love."
He turns to leave, then stops.
"This is the first time my grandmother has ever picked someone for me. She didn't even consider Serena Walsh."
He glances back at me, eyes are cold.
"What's so special about you?"
I look down at myself.
My oversized T-shirt can't hide the thickness of my arms. My jeans are stretched tight across my thighs. Standing in this cold, white-marble villa, I look like a warm smudge that wandered into an art gallery by accident.
Is it because I'm extra fat?
第2章
That night, the housekeeper hands me a small silver pill case.
"Mr. Ethan has a congenital heart arrhythmia. Emotional distress can trigger episodes. He doesn't like taking his medication. Mrs. Wentworth Senior hopes you can keep an eye on it."
She pauses at the door and lowers her voice.
"His condition has gotten worse since he and Miss Walsh broke up two years ago."
Oh.
So that's why they choose me. I'm not really a fiancée. I'm here to keep him safe.
The next morning is my first day of school, and my name is already everywhere before I even set foot on campus.
The barbecue guy's fat daughter.
A charity case the Wentworths are paying for.
Ethan Wentworth's surprise fiancée.
And the girl who stole Serena Walsh's spot.
Serena Walsh is kind of a legend at Ridgemont.
Long hair, white dress, so thin it looks like a stiff breeze could carry her away. She's the lead in the campus arts ensemble, and everyone sees her as the face of the love story the Wentworth family supposedly tore apart."
She and Ethan have the looks, grades, and family background that make them seem like the perfect couple.
And me? When I check in to get my gym uniform, the woman behind the counter stares at the size chart for a solid minute.
"…Honestly, I didn't think anyone would ever need the 4XL."
A few people nearby laugh.
I don't let it get to me, so I change, grab a campus map, and decide to wander around, but before I can get far, it starts pouring.
The September rain comes down hard and fast. I duck into the first open building I find — the athletic center — and realize I've stumbled into a boxing gym.
The thud of fists against heavy bags echoes off the walls, and the air smells of rubber, sweat, and something sharper underneath.
There's a guy inside.
He's wearing a black tank top that clings to his shoulders and back, with his hands wrapped in tape and a faint scar across his brow.
He's just finished a round, and his dark hair hangs damply over his forehead.
If Ethan is cold and untouchable, this guy is intense and dangerous, like he's always ready for a fight.
He's rewrapping his hands when he looks up. Across the dim gym, he sees me.
Our eyes meet, and my heart starts pounding against my ribs.
That's weird. Why does he feel so… familiar?
"Lost?" His voice is low, still a little breathless from training.
"Uh… just getting out of the rain."
"This area's not open to students."
"Oh — okay, I'll go."
I press a hand to my chest and turn to leave.
Behind me, I hear a sharp metallic snap as the chain holding a heavy bag breaks.
A two-hundred-pound heavy bag swings down toward a guy packing up equipment beneath it.
My body moves before my brain does.
I lunge forward and catch the broken strap with both hands.
The bag freezes in midair, less than four inches from the back of his skull.
The chain overhead keeps swinging with a metallic clink, and the sound reminds me of ice cracking beneath my hands.
Dark water rises from somewhere deep in my memory, making my fingers go numb, and I freeze until another hand, wrapped in tape, grabs the strap and steadies the bag beside me.
He's right next to me, and his palm feels hot against mine.
"Let go," he says. "I've got it."
"I'm fine."
I hook the bag back onto the frame. My student ID slips out of my shirt pocket and lands at his feet.
He bends down and picks it up.
"Tatum Gallagher."
He looks at me, then up at the heavy bag. His expression shifts from surprise to recognition, and the corner of his mouth lifts as if he's just discovered something interesting.
"…So. You're Ethan Wentworth's little fiancée?"
"Let me introduce myself, fiancée."
He steps closer, and his warm, steady breath brushes my face as the dangerous edge around him gives way to something teasing and almost playful.
"I'm Ethan's older brother. Damien Wentworth."
第3章
It doesn't take long before I learn the rules of Ridgemont University.
There are two people you don't mess with: Ethan Wentworth and Damien Wentworth.
Ethan Wentworth is the school-approved golden boy.
He has the top GPA, he's the debate team captain and student body president, and he gives the keynote at every homecoming. Even the creases on his shirt look like they've been approved by the administration.
Damien Wentworth is the complete opposite.
He spent most of his life overseas. He's been back less than a month and has already snapped a heavy-bag chain in the boxing gym, gotten hauled to the police station after a fight outside a bar, and had to be personally retrieved by a member of the board of trustees.
Rumor has it girls throw themselves at him constantly. One girl showed up at his dorm in a tank top at two in the morning. He grabbed her by the collar and tossed her out. Humiliating.
And then there's Serena Walsh, the wound in Ethan's chest that never healed.
They dated freshman year.
When her stomach hurt, he walked across campus to bring her soup. When she had stage fright before a performance, he skipped an important meeting to sit through her rehearsal. When people made comments about her ordinary background, he publicly talked back to his own mother for the first time in his life.
Victoria Wentworth ended that relationship.
After the breakup, Ethan became colder and more distant. Serena became more pitiful and sympathetic.
Everyone at school is convinced they were forced apart and that it's only a matter of time before they find their way back to each other.
And I'm the obstacle the Wentworth family suddenly shoved in the middle. A very large obstacle.
At lunch, Ethan shows up at my desk.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"Dining hall. Grandmother requires us to be seen together at least three times a week."
Fine. Contract's a contract. I'm getting paid for this.
We sit down, and I set out his pill and a glass of water first.
"Take your medicine."
His hand reaches for it, and a slender, pale hand appears out of nowhere.
"Try this with it. It helps with the bitter taste."
Serena Walsh is standing beside our table, a piece of candy in her palm.
She gives me a gentle smile.
"Don't mind me, Tatum. Ethan's never liked taking pills. Old habit."
She sets the candy next to his glass and walks away.
Ethan's expression tightens. His eyes follow her for half a second before he catches himself and looks away.
Dozens of eyes are locked on me. Whispers everywhere. They're all waiting to see how I react.
How am I supposed to react? These ribs are actually pretty good.
I'm gnawing on a rib bone when I notice Serena's gaze drifting back over every few seconds.
I lean toward Ethan and lower my voice.
"Your ex is really worried about you. If you passed out right now, she could finish crying at your funeral before I finish this rib."
"Tatum."
Ethan's voice is ice cold.
"What?"
"Shut up and eat."
I'm about to give him a live play-by-play of Serena's next move when Damien shows up.
He drops into the seat across from us, reaches over, plucks a strawberry right off my plate, and pops it in his mouth. Like we're close enough to share food.
…He took the reddest one.
A girl nearby gasps.
"Morning." Damien grins at me. "Little fiancée."
"…It's the afternoon." I glare at him, still mourning my strawberry. "And don't call me that!"
"Was I wrong?"
Ethan sets down his fork. "What do you want?"
"Relax. It's not like you two are real. You don't even like her."
"That's not the point."
"Then why are you so tense?"
Hold on. Are these two always like this?
The air gets weird. I can feel the chatter around us die down. Please don't start a fight. Please. I haven't touched my pulled pork sliders yet.
My phone buzzes, breaking the tension.
A campus-wide text: Fitness assessment, 2 PM, main training field.
Ethan grabs my phone.
"You're with the student council group."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because I said so."
Damien plucks the phone out of his hand, scans the screen.
"Too bad. The boxing club needs a test recorder. I already put in the request through the athletics department."
I snatch my phone back. I don't have time for their little tug-of-war over my schedule.
Because I've just seen what's blowing up on the campus forum.
Someone snuck a photo of me from behind and put it side by side with Serena Walsh.
[How desperate did the Wentworths have to be to force THIS on Ethan?]
[Taking bets: does the fat girl pass out on the track?]
[Imagine her in workout clothes ??]
[Respectfully… she's wifey ??]
[Bro WHAT? YOUR wifey?? Get help ??]
…
I'm used to this kind of thing. But saying it doesn't sting at all would be a lie.
I close my phone and pretend I didn't see any of it.
