Author: BTMBeta

  • The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle by Amigo

    The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex's Alpha Uncle by Amigo

    After four years of playing the perfect girlfriend, my wealthy boyfriend publicly humiliated me for a rich heiress.

    He sneered that I was just a poor Omega who couldn’t survive without his money.

    “You’re not going anywhere without my permission.”

    I didn’t cry or beg. I simply packed my single suitcase, blocked his number, and walked out into the night to reclaim my life.

    That same evening, I ended up saving a dangerously handsome stranger bleeding out in a dive bar restroom.

    I thought I had finally escaped that toxic world to focus on my career as a top heart surgeon.

    But a week later, my ex’s grandmother suffered a massive heart attack, and his desperate family dragged me back to the hospital to save her.

    After the grueling surgery, my ex’s mother tried to force us back together, while my ex glared at me with pure contempt.

    I was about to reject them all when the terrifying Alpha King-my ex’s ruthless uncle-stepped out of the shadows.

    My blood ran cold. His piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. He was the bleeding stranger from the bar.

    I thought he would simply thank me and let me walk away.

    “From this moment on, Dr. Freeman will reside at the Manor.”

    He didn’t ask. He commanded it in front of the entire family, completely ignoring my ex’s shock.

    Before I could even protest, his men were already at my new apartment, packing up my life.

    I had just escaped my ex’s gilded cage, only to be trapped by the King himself.

    The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 1

    Colette POV:

    “Colette, Alpha Colten is hurt. Get to the pack’s club, now.”

    That frantic phone call from one of Colten’s enforcers had sent me running.

    I had just finished an exhausting eight-hour surgery at the pack hospital.

    My legs ached, and I hadn’t even had a sip of water before sprinting all the way to the VIP lounge.

    Pushing the heavy oak door open, the sickly sweet scent of a strange she-wolf hit me before the visual did.

    Colten was lounging on the plush leather sofa.

    A young woman named Hanna was sitting sideways on his lap, with her pale, slender legs draped intimately over his thighs.

    Her eyes were red-rimmed, and unshed tears clung to her long lashes.

    Seeing me walk in, Colten frowned impatiently. “Colette, Hanna hurt her right ankle. Check it quickly.”

    Hanna looked at me with wide, tearful doe eyes. “Sorry to trouble you, Colette.”

    The frantic worry that had kept me running on empty lungs instantly turned into a bucket of ice water poured over my head.

    He wasn’t hurt.

    He had his men lie to me just to tend to his new fling’s minor sprain.

    A sharp, stinging ache gripped my heart.

    I had loved him for so long, always putting him first, yet to him, my exhaustion and devotion meant absolutely nothing.

    He didn’t even care to ask why I was still in my scrubs, or why my face was so pale.

    I stared at her foot resting on the sofa.

    Swallowing the bitter lump of grievance in my throat and forcing down the trembling in my legs, I slowly crouched down.

    I reached out.

    My fingers were still an inch away from her skin, not even brushing her ankle, when—

    “Ouch! It hurts so much!” Hanna shrieked in agony, burying her face into Colten’s chest like a frightened pup.

    “Colette! Do you even know how to treat a patient?” Colten roared, his heavy Alpha aura flaring with sudden anger, pressing down on me.

    “I haven’t even touched her yet,” I explained calmly, looking up.

    His brows knitted together in deep annoyance. “If you didn’t touch her, why is she crying in pain?”

    As he spoke, his large hand gently patted Hanna’s back, soothing her.

    I had always known he could be gentle to other females.

    But seeing this tender, affectionate side of him directed at someone else today made me realize how pathetic I was.

    The stark contrast felt like a silver blade twisting deeply into my chest.

    I had been his official girlfriend for four years, but our history spanned nearly two decades.

    We grew up going to school together.

    During the holidays, I meticulously took care of his daily life.

    When he was struck by wolfsbane fever, I stayed awake for three days straight to keep his temperature down.

    He had known this girl in his arms for barely four days.

    Yet, Colten chose to believe a four-day fling over me.

    I slowly stood up, forcing my spine straight. “I’m sorry. I can’t treat this.”

    “Can’t treat it?” Colten sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Our pack took you in, fed you for years, and paid for your medical degree, and you can’t even treat a minor sprain?”

    I finally heard the underlying contempt in his voice.

    I recognized his dissatisfaction with me and our relationship.

    Above all, I recognized that my status in his heart had never changed.

    I was just a servant to him.

    Standing tall, I lowered my eyes and took one last, careful look at the man I had loved for so many years.

    Then, I forced the words out. “Alpha Colten, I cannot treat this lady’s injury.” I paused, taking a steady breath to stop my voice from trembling. “Also, I apologize for occupying the position of your girlfriend for the past few years. It won’t happen anymore.”

    Colten lifted his dark eyes, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Are you throwing a tantrum and breaking up with me? Perfect. I wanted to give Hanna a proper title anyway.”

    His tone was so relaxed.

    Light.

    It was as if… he had been waiting for me to say those exact words.

    “Enjoy your night, Alpha. I’ll take my leave.” I turned on my heel and walked away.

    Before I even stepped out of the lounge, the mocking voices of Colten’s enforcers leaked into the hallway.

    “Whoa, do you think she’s actually serious this time?”

    “Please. If his father hadn’t pressured him, would an orphaned Omega ever get to sit in that position? She’s just bluffing.”

    “She won’t leave. Give it a day. One call from him and she’ll come running back like a good little pet.”

    I quickened my pace, practically fleeing the club.

    The moment I stepped out of that room, a tidal wave of suffocating grief crashed over me.

    My mother was a servant for the Alpha’s family.

    Twenty years ago, she died protecting the packhouse during a rogue attack.

    My cowardly father took the compensation money and fled the pack.

    Out of pity, the Norton family took me in.

    They let me attend school alongside Colten, tasking me with serving him.

    I had no family; all my childhood memories were tethered to him.

    Later, we got together.

    He once announced to the entire pack at the annual mating gala that I was his.

    He once bought me a diamond ring, saying he wanted to mark and marry me.

    The memories violently clashed with what had just happened.

    It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my heart, hurting so much I couldn’t breathe.

    It wasn’t until passing pack members cast strange looks my way that I realized tears were uncontrollably streaming down my face.

    I turned and rushed into the club’s women’s restroom, locking myself in the furthest stall before breaking down, sobbing silently.

    I let the tears wash away two decades of a foolish illusion.

    When I finally purged all the sorrow from my system, ready to step out and embrace a new life…

    I unlatched the door.

    Before I could open it fully, a massive, towering figure shoved his way inside.

    Terrified, I opened my mouth to scream, but a large, rough hand clamped over my lips.

    The overwhelming scent of blood and terrifying, raw Alpha power filled the tiny space, completely paralyzing my wolf.

    He pinned me against the corner wall, lowering his voice into a dangerous, gravelly warning.

    “Keep quiet and cooperate if you want to live.”

    The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 2

    Colette POV:

    The man’s voice was heavy, strained with a clear suppression of agony.

    The moment he leaned in, an overwhelming stench of metallic blood engulfed me.

    The large hand clamped over my mouth and nose was slick with fresh blood.

    My doctor’s instinct kicked in.

    Sensing he was severely wounded, my initial thrashing immediately ceased.

    Hearing chaotic footsteps outside, the man turned to lock the stall door, only to find the latch was completely broken.

    He cursed under his breath.

    “Where the fuck did he go?” a rough voice barked from the hallway.

    “Shit, you think he ducked into the restrooms?” another replied.

    “You guard the exit. I’ll check the women’s restroom! When I find him, I’m breaking his legs with this silver-laced baton. Let’s see him run then!”

    The man leaned heavily against the tiled wall.

    Even in the dim light, I could see his face was deathly pale, the entire left sleeve of his dark dress shirt soaked in blood.

    My eyes fell on his face.

    There was something strikingly familiar about those cold, piercing blue eyes.

    It was as if… I had seen them somewhere before.

    Heavy boots stomped into the women’s restroom.

    The chaser was kicking the stall doors open one by one.

    I didn’t know what possessed me—maybe it was the adrenaline, or the reckless courage born from having my heart shattered tonight—but I grabbed the man’s leather belt and threw his exact warning back at him in a fierce whisper.

    “Keep quiet and cooperate if you want to live.”

    Treating him like a patient who needed immediate emergency intervention, I swiftly unbuckled his belt, yanked his expensive tailored trousers down, and kicked them toward the gap under the stall door.

    Then, I ripped open the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt.

    Listening to the chaser checking the stalls closer and closer, I grabbed the bottle of highly concentrated medical rubbing alcohol from my bag—a habit I kept for emergencies—and sprayed it everywhere, overpowering the metallic tang of blood.

    At the same time, a surge of adrenaline spiked my own sweet Omega scent, mixing with the alcohol to create a heavy, intoxicating illusion of a couple in the middle of a heated mating frenzy.

    Just as the door to our stall was yanked open, I made a split-second decision.

    I pulled my T-shirt over my head, tossing it aside, leaving me in only my lacy bra.

    Without hesitation, I cupped the stranger’s face and smashed my lips against his.

    The man stiffened for a fraction of a second.

    But then, an instinctual, primal reaction took over.

    His large hand gripped my bare waist, pulling me flush against his hard, burning chest.

    A strange, electric jolt sparked the moment our lips met, sending a shiver straight to my core.

    He turned my desperate cover-up into a deep, dominating kiss that left me breathless.

    I tore my lips away just enough to snap my head toward the intruder, screaming with feigned rage, “What the hell are you looking at? Go watch your own mate!”

    Male shifters were predictable creatures driven by their primal urges.

    Seeing my bare, pale back and the man’s trousers discarded on the floor, the rogue’s aggressive posture instantly relaxed into a sleazy smirk.

    He even let out a low whistle.

    “Got a couple of wild ones having a quickie in the stall,” the rogue yelled back to his partner at the door, chuckling. “You wanna come watch?”

    That single scream had drained every ounce of courage I had.

    I bit my lower lip hard, my hands tightly gripping the stranger’s bloody shirt, not even daring to breathe.

    “You idiot! Stop watching a live show and keep looking!” the voice from the hallway snapped.

    The heavy boots finally retreated, and the restroom door swung shut.

    It wasn’t until the room fell into complete, dead silence that I let out a long, shaky exhale.

    I turned to face the wall and quickly pulled my T-shirt back on.

    Behind me, the man calmly bent down, pulled up his trousers, and fastened his belt.

    He adjusted his collar, preparing to leave…

    I grabbed his arm, pulling him back, and pointed at the closed toilet lid. “Sit.”

    I completely ignored the flash of surprise in his piercing blue eyes.

    Bending down to dig through my bag, I said in my stern, clinical voice, “If I were someone with a severed artery, I’d listen to the doctor.”

    He glanced at the medical supplies in my hand, then at the lingering scent of alcohol I had sprayed.

    A faint, amused smirk ghosted over his lips, and he actually sat down.

    I noticed the edges of the wound on his arm were blackened and sizzling faintly.

    Silver and wolfsbane.

    No wonder a powerful Alpha like him couldn’t heal.

    I took a silk scarf from my bag, tied it above the wound, and then used a pen to twist it into a makeshift tourniquet.

    “If you can’t get to a pack healer immediately, remember to loosen this every forty minutes for about five minutes to let the blood flow, then tighten it again,” I instructed, expertly securing the pen.

    When I finally finished and stepped back, I realized he hadn’t buttoned his shirt yet.

    In the dim, flickering light, his abdominal muscles were sharply defined, his broad, hard chest rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy breathing.

    But what caught my eye was a savage, jagged scar on his shoulder that extended all the way down his back.

    It was an old wound, fully healed, but it would never fade.

    A mark of countless life-and-death battles.

    Besides that, there were several lighter scars crisscrossing his torso.

    Before I could pull my gaze away, the man stood up.

    He casually pulled his ruined shirt together, using his blood-stained fingers to selectively fasten just two buttons, leaving his chest dangerously exposed.

    Then, he reached out and grabbed my hand just as I was about to pick up my bag.

    “What are you doing?” I gasped, looking up into his dark, fathomless eyes.

    My palm felt heavy.

    A small, cold metal object was pressed into my hand.

    The man’s thumb, rough with calluses, gently folded my fingers over it.

    The overwhelming aura of a supreme predator washed over me as he leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly purr that sent shivers down my spine.

    “Dr. Colette… until we meet again.”

    Then, he turned, opened the stall door, and walked out into the shadows with the grace of a lethal king.

    The Forbidden Mate: Claimed By My Ex’s Alpha Uncle Chapter 3

    Colette POV:

    I stared at the heavy platinum cufflink in my palm, my heart suddenly skipping a beat.

    Wait.

    He had just called me “Dr. Colette.”

    He knew my name!

    He knew who I was!

    I clutched my bag and sprinted out of the restroom, but the dimly lit hallway was completely empty.

    The only proof that the dangerous stranger had been there was the lingering scent of metallic blood and cold cedar in the air.

    Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the club and immediately dialed my best friend, Brooke.

    Then, I hailed a cab straight back to Colten’s villa.

    I had to pack my things before that bastard returned.

    The massive villa was filled with expensive designer goods.

    The walk-in closet on the second floor was stuffed with luxurious dresses and custom heels.

    But those were all Colten’s props.

    The things that truly belonged to me were pitifully few.

    A few pairs of worn-out scrubs, some basic skincare products, and my heavy stacks of medical textbooks.

    It took me less than an hour to pack up my entire four-year relationship into one battered suitcase and a cardboard box.

    I left the designer clothes untouched and restored the bedroom to its immaculate state, erasing any trace of my scent and existence.

    By the time I dragged my belongings to the front gates of the villa, Brooke had just pulled up in her car.

    She stepped out, staring at the heavy box of medical books in shock.

    “Are you… planning to give Colten the silent treatment for half a year?”

    “No,” I said calmly, loading the books into her trunk. “I broke up with him. For good.”

    Brooke knew me well.

    I had never once uttered the words “break up” in the past four years.

    Seeing the absolute deadness in my eyes, she knew I was serious.

    “Good riddance!” She helped me lift the suitcase. “I fully support you!”

    Colten POV:

    The next morning, I was jolted awake by my blaring alarm.

    My head pounded from a massive hangover.

    I rubbed my temples and walked straight into the walk-in closet.

    Instantly, my eyes fell on the two perfectly matched suits hanging at the front, carefully selected for my meetings today.

    Colette had prepared them.

    I never had to worry about the trivial details of my life.

    For years, Colette had meticulously coordinated my outfits based on my schedule.

    To me, regardless of how many other she-wolves I played around with, Colette was the perfect, obedient choice for a mate.

    Her Omega wolf was weak and submissive.

    She was bluffing, I thought with a smirk.

    She threw a tantrum about breaking up last night, but she still crawled back to lay out my clothes.

    Feeling smug, I changed and walked downstairs.

    “Alpha Colten, breakfast is ready,” Eleanor, the head housekeeper, said as she stepped out of the kitchen.

    I frowned, looking around. “Where is Colette?”

    “She sent me a message past midnight, asking me to prepare your meals from now on,” Eleanor hesitated, her voice dropping. “She moved out last night, Alpha. She said she won’t be returning.”

    My arrogant expression instantly darkened. “Moved out? Did she take the jewelry and dresses I bought her?”

    “No, sir. Just one old suitcase and her books.”

    A brief silence fell over the dining room.

    Then, a cold, mocking sneer escaped my lips.

    She really thinks this little stunt will make me beg?

    I raised my arm, glancing at my expensive watch.

    It was 8:30 AM.

    “I’ll give her until eight o’clock tonight,” I commanded, my voice dripping with contempt. “If she doesn’t come crawling back to beg for my forgiveness by 8 PM, clear out her remaining scent. Let Hanna move in permanently. It’s time this villa had a new mistress anyway. I don’t have the patience to play these childish games with a mere servant’s daughter.”

  • From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress by Abel Dean

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress by Abel Dean

    My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter’ s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.

    Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn’t just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.

    To protect his company’s billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.

    They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family’s image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn’t his.

    The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.

    But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband’s world burn.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 1

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    I learned my marriage was ending the same way the rest of the world did: in a blinding flash of a camera at a charity gala I had organized.

    One moment, I was smiling, a glass of sparkling water held delicately in my hand, my mind on the baby growing inside me-our secret, our joy. The next, a reporter shoved a phone in my face, the screen glowing with a breaking news alert.

    “Mrs. Sullivan, any comment on your husband’ s big announcement?”

    The headline was stark, brutal. Tech Mogul Gabe Sullivan and Childhood Sweetheart Harper Nicholson Expecting First Child.

    The air in my lungs turned to ice. My smile froze on my face, a brittle mask that felt like it might crack and shatter. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, the whispers starting to ripple through the opulent ballroom like a wave of poison.

    I turned, my movements slow, robotic. And there he was. My husband, Gabe. He was standing across the room with Harper Nicholson, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She was looking up at him with tear-filled, adoring eyes, her own hand protectively cradling a barely-there bump on her stomach.

    They were a perfect picture. A loving couple sharing a beautiful secret with the world.

    A secret that was supposed to be mine.

    The reporter, a vulture sensing a kill, moved closer. “Is it true you and Mr. Sullivan have been living separately?”

    Panic flared in Gabe’ s eyes as he finally saw me. He saw the reporter, the phone, the crumbling expression on my face. His grip on Harper tightened for a split second before he let go, his face paling.

    Our eyes met across the crowded room. In that single, suspended moment, the seven years of our life together played out and died. The late nights when I’ d helped him brainstorm the code for his first app, the way he’ d held me when my adoptive parents criticized my career choice, the whispered promise last week that our baby, our son, would have the love neither of us ever truly had.

    It all turned to ash.

    A cold, quiet rage began to build in my chest, a glacial force pushing aside the shock. I started walking toward him. The murmurs in the room fell silent, the crowd parting before me like the Red Sea. The only sound was the steady, deliberate click of my heels on the marble floor. Each step was a hammer blow against the foundation of our marriage.

    I stopped directly in front of him. I didn’t look at Harper. My entire world had narrowed to Gabe’ s handsome, treacherous face.

    “You have a sixty-second head start to come up with a lie that I might actually believe,” I said, my voice dangerously low, stripped of all warmth.

    He opened his mouth, his charismatic charm already kicking in. “Lottie, baby, it’ s not what it looks like. Let’ s go home and I can explain everything.”

    I didn’ t let him finish. My hand moved on its own, a blur of motion. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the cavernous silence of the ballroom. A collective gasp rippled through our audience.

    Gabe stood there, stunned, the red imprint of my hand blooming on his skin. He didn’ t look angry. He just looked… caught.

    “Please, don’ t blame Gabe!” Harper’ s voice was a saccharine whisper, laced with faux fragility as she stepped between us, placing a hand on his chest. “It was all my fault. I… I was lonely. He was just being kind.”

    Her eyes, glistening with perfectly timed tears, locked onto mine. There was no apology in them. Only triumph.

    The rage inside me finally broke through the ice, and a single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down my cold cheek. I felt the last of my composure shattering.

    Gabe reached for me, his voice a desperate rasp. “Lottie, please.”

    He tried to pull me into his arms, but I flinched away from his touch as if burned.

    “Don’ t touch me,” I choked out.

    His publicist materialized at his side, whispering urgently in his ear. Gabe’ s jaw tightened. He looked from the publicist, to the sea of watching faces, to Harper’ s pleading expression, and finally, back to me. The calculation in his eyes was sickening.

    “The baby is mine,” he said, his voice now clear and firm, not for me, but for everyone listening. “Harper and I have a long history. We’ re going to get through this together.”

    Harper let out a soft sob and leaned into him, burying her face in his expensive suit. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. A protective gesture. A gesture he hadn’ t offered me, his pregnant wife, standing alone in the wreckage he’ d created.

    “Gabe, what are you saying?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “What about our baby?”

    He finally looked at me, his eyes dark with a pain that I knew wasn’t for me, but for himself. For the inconvenience I represented.

    “We’ ll talk at home,” he muttered, his voice low and tight. He began to steer a weeping Harper toward the exit, his team closing ranks around them like a royal guard.

    He was leaving me. He was leaving me here, alone, to face the humiliation.

    I stood frozen as they walked away. The weight of his public declaration settled over me, a suffocating shroud. He hadn’t just admitted to an affair. He had publicly claimed another woman’s child and, in doing so, had erased ours.

    My legs gave out and I stumbled back, catching myself on a table laden with untouched champagne glasses. The room started to spin.

    His company, Sullivan Tech, was on the verge of the biggest IPO in a decade. A scandal, a messy divorce, an illegitimate child-it would have been a disaster. But a tech mogul standing by his pregnant childhood friend? That was a story of loyalty. It was noble.

    It was a lie that sacrificed me and our unborn child on the altar of his ambition.

    As one of his security guards approached to escort me out a side door, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras, a sickening realization dawned. Gabe hadn’t just made a mistake.

    He had made a choice. And he hadn’t chosen me.

    He had chosen her.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 2

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    The ride back to our penthouse was silent, a thick, suffocating blanket of unspoken words filling the space between myself and Gabe’ s grim-faced driver. I stared out at the glittering lights of New York, but saw nothing. My mind was a chaotic storm of betrayal and disbelief. The home I had designed, the sanctuary I had built for us, now felt like a gilded cage waiting to close in on me.

    When we arrived, Gabe was already there, pacing the length of our living room, the city skyline a dramatic backdrop to his distress. He had shed his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. He looked like a man preparing for a fight.

    He stopped when I walked in, his eyes searching my face. “Lottie.”

    I said nothing. I walked past him to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared down at the river, a dark, churning ribbon of black.

    “I know you’ re angry,” he started, his voice soft, persuasive. The voice he used to close billion-dollar deals and charm skeptical investors. “You have every right to be. But you have to understand. The IPO…”

    “Don’ t,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “Don’ t you dare talk to me about the IPO right now.”

    “It’ s everything, Lottie! It’ s everything we’ ve worked for!”

    “We?” I spun around, the fury I’ d been suppressing finally erupting. “We worked for this? I was the one holding you up when you were ready to quit. I was the one who believed in you when your own family called you a failure. And this is how you repay me? By publicly humiliating me and claiming another woman’ s child?”

    “It’ s not like that!” he insisted, taking a step toward me. “Harper is… she’ s fragile. She has no one. Her family threw her out. She came to me for help.”

    “And what am I, Gabe? Am I not fragile? Am I not carrying your child? Or does our baby not matter as much as the child of your childhood sweetheart?”

    The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He flinched as if I’ d slapped him again.

    “Of course our baby matters,” he said, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. He knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His touch felt alien, wrong. I didn’ t pull away, my body frozen in shock. “Lottie, look at me. I love you. You are my wife. Nothing changes that.”

    I stared down at the top of his head, at the man I loved kneeling at my feet, and felt nothing but a vast, empty coldness.

    “It’ s just for show,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. “A story for the press. Once the IPO is finalized, everything will go back to normal. We’ ll expose the truth, I promise. I’ ll tell the world that you are the one carrying my heir. We will quietly adopt our own child. Legally, it will be clean. No one will ever know.”

    The sheer audacity of his plan stole my breath. He wanted me to hide my own pregnancy. To give birth to our son in secret, only to “adopt” him later, all to protect his public image and his company’ s stock price. He was asking me to accept that our child would be born a dirty secret, while Harper’ s would be celebrated.

    “You’ re insane,” I whispered, pulling my hands from his grasp. “Absolutely insane.”

    “It’ s the only way!” he pleaded, getting to his feet. “My mother is already on board. Your parents, too. They all agree this is the best solution to protect the family and the business.”

    The mention of our families felt like a physical blow. His mother, Eleanor Sullivan, a woman who valued social standing above all else, had always seen me as an accessory to her son’ s success. And my adoptive parents, the Jennings, who had taken me in as a child but never truly loved me, were social climbers of the highest order. Of course they would side with Gabe. The Sullivan fortune was a prize they would do anything to remain attached to.

    “You told them?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You discussed the fate of my child with them before you even spoke to me?”

    “I had to manage the crisis, Lottie!”

    “This isn’ t a crisis, Gabe! This is our life! Our family! Our son!” My voice cracked on the last word. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, a primal instinct to protect the tiny life he was so willing to sacrifice.

    “And I am protecting him!” he yelled, his frustration boiling over. “I am protecting his future! The fortune he is set to inherit!”

    “He doesn’ t need a fortune!” I screamed back, tears streaming down my face. “He needs a father who will acknowledge him! A father who won’ t trade his legitimacy for a stock ticker symbol!”

    He ran a hand through his hair, his composure finally breaking. He looked cornered, desperate. “What do you want from me, Charlotte?”

    He used my full name. He only ever did that when he was trying to distance himself, to turn a personal conflict into a business negotiation.

    “I want a divorce,” I said, the words tasting like acid.

    His face went slack with shock. “No. Absolutely not. A divorce right now is out of the question. It would be a disaster.”

    “I don’ t care about your disaster, Gabe. You’ ve created mine.”

    He strode over to me, grabbing my arms. His grip was tight, bordering on painful. “You are not divorcing me. You are not leaving this apartment. We are going to see this through, as a family. Do you understand?”

    The threat was unmistakable. I was a prisoner in my own home. His home. He had the money, the power, the family support. I had nothing.

    The doorbell rang, a sharp, intrusive sound that made us both jump. Gabe released me and went to the door.

    My heart sank when I saw who it was. Harper. She stood there, looking small and helpless, an overnight bag at her feet. Behind her stood Gabe’ s mother, Eleanor, her face a mask of cold disapproval, and my own adoptive parents, their expressions a mixture of greed and pity.

    The enemy had arrived. And they were moving in.

    Eleanor swept past Gabe without a word to him, her icy gaze landing on me. “Charlotte. We need to talk.”

    My fate, it seemed, was no longer in my hands. It was a business transaction, and I was the liability being managed.

    From Abandoned Wife To Powerful Heiress Chapter 3

    Charlotte Jennings POV:

    “Get her things out of the master bedroom,” Eleanor Sullivan commanded, not looking at me but at one of the household staff who had materialized in the foyer. Her voice was as sharp and cold as shattered glass. “Harper needs rest. The guest wing is too far from the main living area for a woman in her delicate condition.”

    Gabe said nothing. He just stood by the door, his face a grim, unreadable mask, as Harper offered me a small, tremulous smile of pure, venomous victory. My adoptive mother, Carol Jennings, rushed to Harper’ s side, clucking over her like a hen.

    “You poor dear, you must be exhausted. Let’ s get you settled in.”

    My adoptive father, Robert, simply gave me a look of profound disappointment, as if my very presence was a stain on the family’ s reputation.

    I was being usurped in my own home, and my husband, the man who had vowed to protect me, was standing by and letting it happen. The staff, loyal to the man who signed their paychecks, began moving my clothes, my books, my life, out of the room I had shared with Gabe and into a small, sterile guest room at the back of the penthouse.

    The master suite, with its panoramic views of the city and the bed where our child was conceived, was now hers.

    “This is temporary, Charlotte,” Gabe said later, after the jackals had settled their chosen one into her new den. He found me standing in the middle of the cramped guest room, surrounded by boxes of my belongings. “Just until the media attention dies down.”

    “Temporary?” I echoed, my voice hollow. “You’ ve moved another woman into our bed, Gabe. There is nothing temporary about that.”

    “It’ s for appearances!” he hissed, his patience wearing thin. “Harper needs to be seen here. My mother insisted. It solidifies the story.”

    “And what about our story? What about the truth?”

    “The truth doesn’ t matter right now! Only the narrative does!”

    Over the next few days, my life became a waking nightmare. I was a ghost in my own home. Gabe was consumed with work, orchestrating the IPO launch, and when he was home, he was with Harper. I would hear them laughing in the living room, see them sharing meals on the terrace. Eleanor had taken over the household, directing the staff to cater to Harper’ s every whim, from organic prenatal smoothies to specialized pillows.

    My own pregnancy was ignored. A non-entity. When I experienced morning sickness, the cook told me Mrs. Sullivan had instructed her to prepare only the foods on Harper’ s approved diet plan. When I tried to speak to Gabe, he was always in a meeting or on a call. He was avoiding me, hiding behind the wall of his ambition.

    My adoptive parents were no better. They visited daily, not to see me, but to fawn over Harper and strategize with Eleanor about how best to present the “new family” to the press. They saw Harper’ s baby as a golden ticket, a direct heir to the Sullivan empire, and they were hitching their wagon to it with sickening enthusiasm.

    I was completely and utterly alone, a prisoner in a home that no longer felt like mine, carrying a child whose existence was an inconvenience to everyone.

    One afternoon, I found Harper in my studio. My private space. She was running her hands over my architectural models, a faint, condescending smile on her lips.

    “You’ re very talented,” she said, without turning around. “It’ s a shame you’ ll have to give it all up.”

    “I have no intention of giving anything up,” I said, my voice tight.

    She finally turned to face me, her expression one of faux sympathy. “Oh, darling. You still don’ t get it, do you? You’ re the past, Charlotte. I’ m the future. Gabe feels a responsibility to you, of course. But his heart… his heart has always been with me.”

    “Get out of my studio,” I said, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

    “This isn’t your studio anymore,” she purred, trailing a finger along the edge of my drafting table. “Soon, this will be the nursery. Gabe and I were just discussing it. We think a celestial theme would be lovely, don’ t you?”

    Something inside me snapped. I lunged at her, my vision blurring with red-hot rage. I didn’ t know what I intended to do, only that I couldn’t stand her smug, triumphant face for another second.

    But before I could reach her, a hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back. It was Gabe. He had come in silently, drawn by our raised voices.

    He pulled me behind him, shielding Harper as if I were the threat. As if I were the monster.

    “Charlotte, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his eyes blazing with anger.

    “She’ s trying to hurt the baby!” Harper cried, clutching her stomach and stumbling backward dramatically. “Gabe, I’ m scared!”

    “I didn’ t touch her!” I yelled, struggling against his grip. “She’ s lying!”

    But Gabe wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at Harper, his expression softening with concern. He rushed to her side, helping her to a chair, speaking to her in low, soothing tones.

    He believed her. Without a moment’ s hesitation, he believed her over me.

    That was the moment I understood. This wasn’t just about the IPO. This wasn’t a temporary arrangement. This was a coup. And I had already lost.

    Later that evening, Eleanor Sullivan came to my room. She didn’ t knock. She entered with the air of a prison warden, my adoptive parents trailing behind her like obedient lapdogs.

    “You have become a problem, Charlotte,” Eleanor said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “Your instability is a risk to the company. To my son. To my grandchild.”

    She slid a document onto the small desk. A contract.

    “This is a post-nuptial agreement,” she explained. “It outlines the terms of your future with Gabe. You will remain married until after the IPO. You will make no public statements. You will cede all parental rights of Harper’ s child to Gabe. In exchange, you will be well compensated.”

    And then came the final, devastating blow.

    “Furthermore,” she continued, her eyes as cold as a winter sea, “Harper has informed us that you were unfaithful to my son. She said you confessed to her that your child may not even be Gabe’ s. Given your violent outburst today, we cannot risk the scandal of a contested paternity. It is too messy.”

    My blood ran cold. “That’ s a lie. That’ s a disgusting lie.”

    “It doesn’ t matter,” Eleanor said flatly. “The perception is what matters. Therefore, you will terminate the pregnancy. Immediately.”

    The air left my body. I looked from Eleanor’ s merciless face to my adoptive parents. They wouldn’ t meet my eyes. They were complicit. They were selling me, and my child, for a piece of the Sullivan pie.

    “No,” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “No. I won’ t.”

    Eleanor’ s lips curved into a cruel smile. “I’ m afraid you don’ t have a choice. The appointment is tomorrow morning. You can either walk in there yourself, or my men will carry you.”

  • Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir by Bae Writes

    One lab error. Two betrayals. And a billionaire who doesn’t believe in accidents.
    Emily Vance thought she was carrying a miracle. After her fiancé, Julian, ended up in a coma following a horrific car crash, she underwent IVF to keep his legacy alive. It was supposed to be her anchor. Instead, a clinical mix-up reveals that the child in her womb isn’t Julian’s at all. It belongs to Alistair Wolfe, a man whose name is synonymous with ruthless power and a heart made of ice.
    The nightmare doesn’t stop at the doctor’s office. When Julian finally wakes up, he doesn’t call for Emily. He calls for her stepsister, Chloe, revealing a secret affair that turns Emily’s years of loyalty into a joke.
    Backed into a corner by a family ready to sell her to a predatory debt collector to save their failing business, Emily is left with a devastating choice. Her doctors warn her that this is her last chance at motherhood. To keep her baby and escape her family’s reach, she has to make a deal with the wolf at the door.
    Alistair Wolfe wants his heir. Emily wants protection.
    No love. No strings. Just a temporary union until the child is born. But as Emily moves into Alistair’s world, she quickly learns that playing the wife of a man like Alistair is a high-stakes game where the heart is the first thing you lose.

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 1 A Clinical Nightmare

    I’m staring at a document that just erased the last thread of my sanity.
    I’ve pinched myself so many times that my skin has turned bright pink. Yet…I haven’t woken up from this nightmare that seems to be my life and reality.
    Dr. Miller sits across from me, his hands folded over a tan folder, looking everywhere but at my face.
    “Can…can you repeat yourself?” I ask the doctor, hoping that I misheard him the first time. Because this can’t be real. This can’t be real.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Emily,” he says. His voice is small, lacking the professional confidence he usually carries. “There was a clerical error in the lab. A mislabeling during the cryopreservation retrieval.”
    “What…what does that mean?”
    He adjusts in his seat. “The embryo we implanted… it wasn’t created with Julian Thorne’s samples. The sperm used belonged to another donor.”
    I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling the slight curve of my belly through the thin fabric of my floral dress. This child is my anchor. Since Julian’s car spun out on that rain-slicked highway a month ago, this pregnancy has been the only thing keeping me from sinking. The doctors said Julian might never wake up from the coma, and his parents begged me to use the samples he’d frozen before we even got engaged. They wanted a piece of him to live on. I wanted it more.
    “No,” I say, shaking my head slowly. My voice is so calm it surprises me. “No, that’s not right. We… we used Julian’s sample. That’s what we agreed on. That’s what I signed for.”
    “Miss Emily-“
    “I went through weeks of treatment,” I snap, and the calm in my voice is gone. “Hormones. Injections. Blood tests. You told me everything was fine. You told me this would work.”
    “It did work,” he says gently. “You are pregnant.” Then his voice reduces. “But the biological father is not Julian Thorne.”
    A tear rolls down my cheek before I can stop it, and I angrily swat it away.
    “That’s not my child,” I say confidently, as if my confidence can erase the truth.
    “It is your child,” he says. “Genetically, you are the mother.”
    I glare at him for a few seconds and then I laugh. It’s a bitter, humorless sound. “It’s not my child with my fiancé. I wanted a baby with the man I love. The man I’m going to marry. I did everything right. I followed every step. I trusted you.”
    “I understand how difficult this is-“
    “No, you don’t!” I yell, banging my shaking hands against the table. “You don’t understand what this means.”
    Because Julian might never wake up. Because this child was supposed to be the only piece of him I’d have left. Because I built my entire future around this one thing.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You’re sorry?” I scoff. “You didn’t lose my luggage, Doctor. You lost the last living piece of my fiancé. Julian is in a coma. He might never wake up, and you’ve filled me with-with what? Some random guy’s DNA?”
    The irony is a jagged pill in my throat. I spent six weeks pumping myself full of hormones, bruising my thighs with needles.
    “I want it out,” I say calmly. “Terminate the pregnancy. We’ll redo the cycle. I’m not carrying a ‘coding error’ to term.”
    “Miss Emily. The hospital board is prepared to offer you a settlement of one million dollars,” Dr. Carter continues quickly, his face pale. “Along with a full refund and the best prenatal care money can buy, provided you sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
    I stand up so fast my chair screeches against the linoleum. One million dollars. They want to pay me off for a stranger’s child. I look at the framed degrees on his wall, the anatomical charts, the little plastic models of life, and I feel a wave of heat wash over my neck. My skin feels too tight for my body.
    “One million dollars?” I whisper. Another tear slides down my face and that chilling calm returns. I am slipping between calm and rage, and I have no way of controlling it.
    “I… I don’t want your money,” I say. “I want this,” I point to my belly. “Gone.”
    His expression tightens. “I’m afraid that may not be advisable-“
    “I don’t care. Get. Rid. Of. It.”
    “That would be a mistake.”
    The voice is like a low vibration, commanding and cold. I spin around to see a man standing by the doorframe. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an expensive-looking charcoal suit. His eyes are a piercing, unforgiving grey, and they are fixed directly on me.
    Dr. Carter stands up so fast he nearly trips. “Mr. Wolfe. I didn’t realize you were on the premises.”
    “I tend to move quickly when my assets are mishandled, Doctor,” the man says. He steps into the room, and the space suddenly feels half its size. He doesn’t look at the doctor; he looks at me, scanning me with a clinical, predatory intensity.
    His presence is so intense and intimidating that I almost feel the need to step back. But I don’t. I struggle with every bone in my body to maintain my composure.
    Mr. Intimidating reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick, matte-black business card onto the desk. Alistair Wolfe. CEO, Wolfe Industries.
    My lips part slightly. This is the man who has effectively automated half the logistics firms in the country. He is the “Ghost of Wall Street.”
    “I am the biological father of the child you’re carrying,” Alistair says. His tone isn’t apologetic; it is a statement of fact. “And I have no intention of letting you terminate. Carry the pregnancy to term. Hand the child over to me the moment it’s born, and I will deposit one hundred million dollars into an account of your choosing.”
    I take a step back until my calves hit the guest chair. I stare at him, my breath hitching. My calm changes to that hot feeling in my chest and I clench my fists. “You’re insane.”
    Dr. Carter’s eyes widen and Mr. Intimidating frowns. “What?”
    “You’re insane,” I repeat. “My fiancé is lying in the hospital in a coma and you think you can pay me to have your baby and not his?”
    “Two hundred mi-“
    “I don’t care about your money!” I snap. “I want my life back. I want my fiancé’s child.”
    Alistair’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it turns to stone. “Money buys time, Ms. Vance. And right now, you’re out of it.”
    “What does that mean?”
    He signals to Dr. Carter, who hands me another report from his table. “Your latest screenings came back this morning. Your uterine lining is… it’s significantly thinner than we anticipated. The hormonal stress of this IVF cycle has caused severe scarring.”
    He pauses, looking at Alistair, then back to me. “If you terminate this pregnancy, the damage will be irreversible. The likelihood of a successful second implantation is virtually zero. You would be permanently infertile.”
    My head spins, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. “That…that’s not true. You can give me some kind of injection. You can perform a surgery.”
    “Those aren’t feasible options Miss Emily.”
    The dream of a house with a tire swing, of a little boy with Julian’s messy blonde hair, it all starts to evaporate like mist. If I end this, I end everything. I will never be a mother. Not with Julian’s child. Not with any child.
    “Think about it,” Alistair says, his voice dropping to a silken thread. “You keep the child. You fulfill your biological potential. You get a fortune that ensures you never have to work a day in your life. And then you can have another child with your fiancé. All I ask is for-“
    He pauses when he sees fresh tears gather in my eyes. Something softens in his expression, but it lasts just one second.
    “What’s mine,” he completes.
    The dizziness worsens and now I can’t breathe. It’s too much information. I need to see Julian. I need to touch his hand and tell him I am sorry I’ve failed him.
    As if the universe read my mind, my phone on the table begins to vibrate. I lunge for it the second I see Julian’s mother’s name on the screen.
    “Emily!” she sobs the moment I answer. “Emily, come to the hospital. Now! Julian…he opened his eyes. He’s awake!”
    I don’t say a word to Alistair Wolfe. I don’t even look at him. I run. I sprint through the hospital corridors. My heart is a drum, beating out a single word: Julian. Julian. Julian.
    I reach the Intensive Care unit, my lungs burning. I slow down as I approach Room 402, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle. I want to burst in, to throw my arms around him, to tell him that we will figure out the mess with the baby together.
    But the door is cracked open an inch. And from inside, I don’t hear the beep of monitors or the steady breathing of a recovering patient. I hear a muffled, familiar sob.

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 2 Double Betrayal

    The man I planned to spend my life with is currently stroking my sister’s hair like she’s the one who’s been sleeping in a hospital chair for a month.
    I stand in the shadows of the hospital door, my fingers curled in a fist. Julian looks different propped up against those white pillows. The rugged, athletic fiancé I knew has been replaced by a man who looks brittle. But his eyes are wide and focused on Chloe. She’s leaning in so close that their foreheads touch.
    “I was coming to see you that night,” Julian whispers. “I was in the car because I couldn’t wait another day to tell Emily that the wedding was a mistake. I was rushing to her to call it off, Chloe. The rain…I just didn’t see the truck coming.”
    Chloe lets out a strangled sob, burying her face in the side of his mattress. “You almost died for us,” she wails. “I’ve been so scared, Julian. Having to watch her play the grieving girlfriend when I’m the one who actually loves you.”
    The air in the hallway turns to ice. Every sacrifice I’ve made over the last four weeks comes to my mind. I think of the needles I stuck into my thighs for the IVF. I think of the crushing guilt I felt, believing he’d crashed that car because he was rushing home to me. I think of the child growing inside me, the child that belongs to a cold-eyed stranger named Alistair Wolfe, all because I wanted to give Julian’s parents a piece of their son before he slipped away.
    I push the door open and step into the room. The moment the light hits them, Chloe jerks away. Julian looks toward me, his eyes wide and glassy. He doesn’t hold my gaze for a second before his cheeks flush pink and he looks away at the ceiling.
    Before I can find my voice, a sound comes from behind me. I turn to see Julian’s mother standing there with a cardboard tray of coffees. Her eyes are rimmed with red and she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week.
    “Emily, dear, you’re white as a sheet,” she says. She looks at my stomach with a hopeful, watery smile. “How did the appointment go? Is our little miracle holding on?”
    I look at her, the woman who has treated me like a daughter for three years, then at Julian. The coward is still staring at the ceiling. The truth about Alistair Wolfe’s baby sits like a mouthful of ash in my throat.
    “It didn’t work,” I say. My voice is steady, devoid of grief in a way that surprises me. “The IVF failed. There is no baby.”
    The older woman’s face seems to collapse. She reaches for the back of a plastic chair to steady herself. “Oh, Emily. No. Not after everything. I’m so sorry.”
    I watch Chloe out of the corner of my eye. She’s staring at me, her mouth slightly open in a mock expression of shock. She brings a lace handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at tears that aren’t there.
    “Oh, Emily, that’s devastating,” Chloe says. She stands up and moves toward me. She looks at the mother with a mournful expression before turning that gaze back to me. Her eyes don’t look sad. If anything, they’re bright. “I know how much you wanted this. We all did.”
    She stops a foot away from me. “But maybe,” Chloe continues, her tone dropping into a whisper, “maybe it’s probably for the best, isn’t it? Everything is so complicated right now with Julian’s recovery. Now you don’t have that burden holding you back. You can focus on yourself for once.”
    The word burden rings in my ears like a bell.
    A strange, freezing calm settles over me. The heat in the room seems to vanish, replaced by a clarity so clear it feels like a veil dropped from my eyes. I think of the hormones I pumped into my body. I think of the way I sat by Julian’s bed, whispering to him about a child I thought would save his family’s spirit.
    The rage I feel is not something I’ve ever felt before. It just sits there, a blinding, white-hot stillness that dictates my next move.
    Before I can even process, my hand goes up with a speed that catches her completely off guard. The sound of my palm hitting her cheek is loud in the small room.
    Chloe’s head snaps to the side and stumbles back, a red handprint blooming across her skin.
    “Emily!” Julian shouts from the bed. He tries to sit up, his face contorting in pain as his monitors begin to beep a frantic, irregular rhythm. “What the hell are you doing?”
    I don’t answer him. I grab Chloe by the collar of her silk blouse, dragging her toward the side of the bed. She’s screeching, her polished nails clawing at my wrists, but I don’t feel a thing. I shove her toward Julian.
    “You want to talk about burdens, Chloe?” I ask. “Let’s talk about the burden of being a liar. Let’s talk about what you two were doing while I was at the clinic trying to save a legacy that didn’t even want to be saved.”
    Julian reaches out, his fingers trembling as he tries to pull my hand away from her collar. “Emily, stop. You’re being hysterical.”
    I look at him then, and the man I thought I loved is gone. In his place is a stranger with a weak chin and a terrified expression. I let go of Chloe’s shirt, but only so I can turn the full force of my attention on him.
    I raise my hand and bring it down on his face. The first slap is for the three years I wasted. The second slap is for the guilt I carried, thinking I was the reason he was hurt. The third slap is for the farce. For the way they let me walk into a hospital and have a stranger’s child implanted in me while they were planning their getaway.
    “We’re done,” I say. “Don’t call me. If I see either of you again, I’ll make sure the rest of the world knows exactly what kind of people you are.”
    I turn and walk out, ignoring the muffled cries and the chaos erupting in the room. I don’t stop until I’m in the empty stairwell three flights down. I lean against the cold concrete wall and finally, the air breaks. I sob until my lungs ache.
    I am alone. I am pregnant with a billionaire’s child. And I have nothing.
    An hour later, I’m sitting in the waiting room of a low-cost women’s clinic on the other side of town. I can’t keep Alistair Wolfe’s child, not when it was conceived under the umbrella of a lie.
    The doctor is a woman in her sixties with tired eyes. She looks at my charts, then back at me. “I have to be honest with you. Your records show a history of severe endometriosis and a very thin lining. This pregnancy is essentially a medical fluke. If we proceed with the termination, the scarring will be permanent. You’ll likely never conceive again.”
    I leave that clinic and go to another. And another. I spend the entire afternoon driving through the city, hearing the same sentence repeated in different accents and different offices. Permanent infertility.
    By the time I pull into the driveway of the Vance estate, the sun is already setting. I head toward the study to find my father, but I stop when I hear voices coming from the cracked door of the sitting room.
    At this point, I should know not to listen to voices from cracked doors.
    “I don’t know about this, Lydia,” my father’s voice says.
    “The firm is underwater,” a voice replies. It’s Lydia, my stepmother. “And this deal with Silas Reed is the only thing that can save us now. He’s been asking about Emily for months. He won’t care about the fact that the engagement fell apart. He’s willing to pay off the primary debt the moment the marriage certificate is signed.”
    “But the rumors about him,” my father says weakly. “The way his last wife ended up… and he’s nearly twenty years older than her.”
    “He’s wealthy, Thomas,” Lydia snaps. “After the news we got from the hospital, we know that Emily needs to be handled. Silas will keep her on a short leash. “
    I lean against the hallway wall, my stomach churning. Silas Reed. He’s a predator who is known for his cruelty. My own family is selling me to a monster to save a failing business.
    My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and read the words on the screen with blurry vision. .
    Have you reached a decision, Emily? – Alistair Wolfe.
    I look at the door to the sitting room, where my father and stepmother are negotiating my life like a piece of livestock. Then I look at the text. I have no husband. I have no family. And if I lose this baby, I have no future.
    I hit the call button on the unknown number. It rings once before he picks up.
    “I didn’t expect your call,” the voice says.
    “I’ll do it,” I say. I stand up straight, my hand resting on my stomach. “I’ll carry the child. I’ll give you your heir.”
    There’s a brief silence on the other end. “A wise choice, Emily. I’ll have the papers drawn up for the trust.”
    “No,” I say, my voice hardening. “I don’t want the hundred million. I want something else.”
    “Name it.”
    I take a deep breath. “You have to marry me, Alistair.”

    Accidentally Pregnant With The Billionaire Heir Chapter 3 The Gold Seal

    I’ve just asked a billionaire to marry me to save myself from a predatory debt collector and a family that views me as a line item.
    Silence feels like punishment when you’re talking to a man like Alistair Wolfe. And the phone has been silent for what feels like hours now. I grip the phone so hard that the edge of the case bites into my palm,
    “Just a marriage of convenience,” I say, my voice sounding much firmer than I feel. “I don’t want your money. Once the baby is born, we can file for divorce. The only thing I ask for is visitation rights so I won’t be a ghost in my own child’s life.”
    The silence stretches for another five seconds, long enough for me to count the cracks in the hallway floorboards. I’m about to emphasize that it’s just for convenience but I don’t get the chance.
    “Seven in the morning,” Alistair says. “The City Clerk’s Office. Bring your birth certificate, your passport, and every piece of identification you own. My lead attorney will be there at six forty-five with the paperwork. Don’t be late, Emily.”
    The line clicks dead before I can even breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t say yes, but the instructions are good enough. I lean my head against the cool wallpaper, closing my eyes. This isn’t the wedding I spent my girlhood dreaming about. There are no peonies, no cathedral veils, and certainly no groom who looks at me like I’m his entire world. Instead, I’m trading my freedom for a shield. It’s a fair trade, I suppose.
    I sleep fitfully, waking every hour to the image of Silas Reed’s oily smile and Chloe kissing my fiancé. When the sun finally starts to bleed through the curtains, I pull myself out of bed, take a short shower, and reach for a simple navy blue wrap dress. It’s professional, modest, and hides the fact that I’ve lost weight over the last few weeks. I brush my hair until it’s a dark, glossy sheet. A little concealer and a swipe of tinted lip balm hide my weary look.
    The City Clerk’s Office smells like lemon floor wax and old coffee. It’s a drab, municipal building with rows of plastic chairs and the constant, dull drone of a printer somewhere in the back. A man in a charcoal suit stands near the information desk, clutching a leather briefcase. The quality of his suit tells me he’s the billionaire’s lawyer.
    “Ms. Vance?” he asks when he sees me. He doesn’t smile. “I’m Markson, Mr. Wolfe’s personal counsel. We have quite a bit to get through before he arrives.”
    He leads me to a small, private table in the corner and begins spreading out sheets of thick, high-bond paper. The prenuptial agreement is so detailed I almost suspect it was prepared weeks before. But that’s not possible because this marriage was my idea. It outlines the duration of the marriage, the post-divorce property arrangements, and the most painful part: full legal and physical custody of the child for Alistair Wolfe. My visitation rights are listed in a series of bullet points.
    I read every word, the ink blurring as tears gather my eyes. I realize I’m signing away the only thing that will be truly mine. But then I remember the alternative. If I stay in that house, my stepmother will drag me to marry a man who breaks women for sport. I reach for the gold-tipped pen Markson offers and sign my name on the bottom of every page.
    “Everything seems to be in order,” Markson says, checking his watch.
    A few minutes later, the glass doors at the entrance swing open, and the atmosphere in the room shifts. It’s as if the temperature has dropped ten degrees. Alistair Wolfe walks in, and almost everyone in the room turns to lok at him. He isn’t wearing a full suit today. He has on a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a pair of dark tailored trousers. He looks effortless, rugged, and breathtakingly handsome in a way that makes my throat feel dry.
    He stops in front of our table, his gaze sweeping over me with the same intensity he had yesterday. He doesn’t offer a greeting. He looks at the signed papers, then back at me. For a split second, his eyes drop to my lips, his focus lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. Then, the coldness returns.
    “Did she sign?” Alistair asks the lawyer.
    “Every page, sir,” Markson confirms.
    “Good. Let’s get this over with.”
    The registration process is a blur of stamps and signatures. Because of Alistair’s influence, we are ushered into a private office where a clerk with a tired expression processes the expedited service. Within fifteen minutes, a piece of paper with a gold seal is slid across the desk toward us.
    Alistair picks up one copy and hands it to me. His fingers brush mine, and I feel a jolt of something that isn’t quite fear but feels just as dangerous. His skin is warm, a sharp contrast to his icy demeanor.
    “You’re now Mrs. Wolfe,” he says. “I have to fly to London immediately. There’s an acquisition that needs my direct attention. I’ll be gone for three days.”
    I stare at the paper. Emily Wolfe. It looks wrong. It looks like a lie written in gold ink.
    “I’ll send a car and a team of movers to your father’s house on Thursday morning at eight,” he continues. “You’ll move into my estate. For the duration of this contract, you live with me. I need to ensure the health of my heir is monitored properly.”
    “I can take care of myself, Alistair,” I say, trying to reclaim some shred of my dignity.
    He steps closer, his shadow falling over me. He smells like sandalwood. “You’re carrying my child, Emily. That makes your safety my business. Don’t make this difficult.”
    He pauses, his gaze softening by a fraction of a millimeter. “Do you need a ride back?”
    I shake my head quickly. The thought of Alistair’s black car pulling up to my father’s driveway is a nightmare. Lydia would have a heart attack, and Thomas would probably try to ask him for a loan before I could even get out of the vehicle. “No. I’ll take a cab. I need to handle things at home first.”
    Alistair nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. “Thursday. Eight o’clock. Don’t make my men wait.”
    He turns and walks out, Markson trailing behind him like a loyal shadow. I stand in the middle of the lobby, clutching my marriage license to my chest. My heart is a steady, heavy thud. I’ve done it. I’ve jumped off the cliff, and now I just have to wait and see if the parachute opens.
    When I walk through the front door of the Vance estate, the scent of Lydia’s expensive lilies almost suffocates me. My father and stepmother are sitting in the foyer, dressed as if they’re going to a funeral. Lydia is wearing a sharp, black suit, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looks painful. Thomas is fidgeting with his cufflinks with a small frown on his face.
    “Where have you been?” Lydia snaps, standing up the moment the door clicks shut. “We’ve been calling you for two hours. We have someone expecting us at the St. Regis for lunch. You need to go upstairs and put on that red dress I bought you. And for heaven’s sake, do something about your face. You look exhausted.”
    “Who are we going to meet?” I ask, pretending not to already know.
    “Someone important.”
    My father stands up too, though he won’t quite meet my eyes. “Emily, please. Just cooperate. It’s a simple lunch. This person is a very influential man. He can help us.”
    “Help you,” I correct him. I feel a strange sense of power bubbling up inside me, a cold, clean anger that burns away the last of my fear. “I know it’s Silas Reed we’re going to meet. And you want to see me off because he can help you pay for your bad investments and Lydia’s jewelry. But he can’t help me.”
    “Don’t be dramatic,” Lydia says, walking toward me. “You’re a Vance. You have a responsibility to this family. Now, get upstairs.”
    I don’t move. I reach into my purse and pull out the marriage license. I hold it up, the gold seal catching the light of the chandelier.
    “I’m not a Vance anymore,” I say. “I got married this morning.”
    Lydia stops dead in her tracks. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. My father’s face goes pale, his eyes wide as he stares at the document.
    “What are you talking about?” he stammers. “Married? To who? Julian is still in the hospital, he-“
    “Not to Julian,” I say, stepping closer so they can see the name on the paper. “To Alistair Wolfe. I’m his wife now. Which means I’m his responsibility. So, you can call Silas Reed and tell him the deal is off. I’m moving out on Thursday.”
    The silence that follows is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. I walk past them toward the stairs, my head held high, leaving the ruins of their plans scattered on the floor. I’m going to a house of ice, but at least the walls there would be mine.
    For a while.

  • The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit by Maui

    The Silent Heiress's Million Dollar Gambit by Maui

    My stepmother’s bodyguards were seconds away from dragging me back to a life that was essentially a prison cell wrapped in silk. I couldn’t even scream for help because the words always died in my throat—a clinical condition called selective mutism that felt like drowning on dry land.

    I had just discovered the sickening truth: my father was planning to sell me to a sleazy investor named Sterling to cover his company’s bankruptcy. They were going to drug me, ship me off to a private island, and strip away the only thing I had left—my late mother’s multimillion-dollar art trust.

    When I arrived at the manor, my stepmother Lydia handed me a glass of wine laced with bitter sedatives, her smile sharp as a razor.

    “Drink up, darling. It’ll make the transition to Mr. Sterling much easier.”

    My stepsister Harper stood in the corner, wearing a dress bought with my mother’s stolen money, mocking my inability to speak. My father didn’t even look me in the eye as he calculated my price tag, treating his own daughter like a piece of damaged, mute inventory.

    They thought because I didn’t speak, I didn’t hear them laughing about the “accident” that killed my mother or how they planned to burn her final restoration work. They assumed my silence was a sign of surrender, a white flag waved by a broken girl who would never fight back.

    How could the people who were supposed to be my family treat me like a commodity to be traded? Did they really think my silence meant I was weak, or that I didn’t know every dirty secret they were hiding in their ledgers?

    I didn’t drink the wine. Instead, I burst into the VIP suite of Carlisle Pierce, the most cold-blooded billionaire in New York, and slammed a crumpled napkin on his table with a desperate, last-second gambit.

    “MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION.”

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 1

    The heavy scent of cheap cologne and severe halitosis filled the air.
    A fifty-something, balding man with a mouth full of yellow teeth and a height that barely reached Emilee’s shoulders was trying to pin her to the bed. He looked incredibly sleazy and weak, a pathetic excuse for a man.
    “You think you’re some high-and-mighty heiress?” the old man, Mr. Henderson, sneered, looking her up and down like a piece of cheap trash. His foul breath made Emilee nauseous. “Take a good look at yourself. You’re nothing but a useless, unwanted mute. A pathetic piece of garbage. You aren’t even fit to shine my shoes! But your stepmother, Lydia, sold you to me for a good price. Your father threw you away like a stray dog. So just lie back, spread your legs, and take what I give you.”
    Emilee did not hesitate. She spun around and delivered a vicious, bone-crushing kick directly to his groin.
    The old man let out a high-pitched squeal, collapsing to the floor and clutching himself in agony, unable to stand. Without a second glance, Emilee bolted out of the room.
    Ripping the door open, Emilee bolted.
    Worn combat boots hit the plush carpet of the Obsidian Club’s VIP corridor without a sound. That was the problem with expensive places—designed to absorb noise, keep secrets, and swallow people whole.
    Lungs burning, Emilee refused to look back. That disgusting old man’s bodyguards and the stepmother’s men would both be coming.
    Rounding the corner, a shoulder slammed hard into the wall. Pain shot down the arm, sharp and grounding. A door was the only salvation. Any door.
    The throat constricted. Selective mutism. That was the clinical term. It felt more like drowning on dry land. Any scream for help would just die in the throat.
    Frantic eyes darted down the dim hallway.
    There. At the very end of the hall, a heavy black door with gold trim stood slightly ajar. It was a sliver of hope in a tunnel of despair.
    She threw her weight against the door and stumbled into the room.
    The air inside was cooler. It smelled of expensive leather, aged whiskey, and something sharp and masculine.
    She turned immediately, her fingers fumbling with the lock. Click. The sound was louder than a gunshot.She pressed her back against the wood, her chest heaving. Heavy footsteps thudded outside. “Check the stairwell,” a deep voice grumbled. “She couldn’t have gone far.” The footsteps faded.
    Emilee let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone.
    She snapped her eyes open.
    In the shadows, a man was watching her. He was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, an arm draped casually over the backrest. He was terrifyingly still.
    Her blood ran cold. Even with her heavy makeup, she recognized him from financial reports. The third-generation heir to the Pierce media empire.
    An image of her father’s face flashed through her mind. It wasn’t fear she remembered seeing when her father spoke of this man, but a sickening, fanatical desperation to climb the social ladder. She vividly recalled how her father had acted like a fawning, tail-wagging dog, trying desperately to curry favor with the man sitting before her. To get even the slightest connection with Carlisle Pierce, her father would have gladly offered up everything he owned on a silver platter, begging for just a few crumbs from this man’s table.
    And that was perfect. She was cornered, penniless, hunted. It couldn’t get worse than the bald bastard behind her. If she had to gamble, she would gamble on him.
    Emilee pushed herself off the door. Her legs were shaking, but she forced them to move. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled napkin and a black eyeliner pencil.
    Carlisle watched her approach, his finger tapping rhythmically against the crystal glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. He assumed she was another “gift” from his grandfather.
    She stopped in front of him. Then, with a sudden, fierce motion that surprised even him, she planted both hands on his shoulders and shoved him back onto the velvet sofa. She caged him there, leaning over him, her wild, kohl-rimmed eyes burning into his.
    Carlisle raised an eyebrow, his body tensing under her hands, a dangerous stillness coiling in him.
    She uncapped the pencil with her teeth, scribbled quickly, the tip tearing the paper. Then she slammed the napkin onto his chest.
    Carlisle looked down.
    The handwriting was jagged, rushed. MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION.
    A flicker of genuine novelty crossed his features. “A napkin proposal,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, like gravel wrapped in velvet, with a hint of dark amusement. “That’s a first. Creative.”
    He looked up at her, his expression cooling again. “But I’m not interested in playing charity. Get out.” He reached for the phone to call security.
    Emilee lunged and grabbed his wrist. Her hand was small, her fingers ice cold.
    Carlisle froze. He looked at her hand on his wrist, then up at her face. Her eyes were terrified. Not the fake terror of a bad actress, but the primal fear of a trapped animal.
    Outside the door, the heavy footsteps returned. “Did you check the VIP suites?”
    Emilee’s grip tightened. Her nails dug into his skin. She shook her head frantically. Please. The word wasn’t spoken, but it screamed from her expression.
    Carlisle looked at her, his deep eyes unreadable. He set the phone down. He twisted his wrist, breaking her grip, and then caught her hand in his. He pulled her closer. She stumbled, her hip bumping against the table, her breath catching as his face came inches from hers.
    “Can you afford me, little wildcat?” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, a hint of dark amusement playing on his lips.
    Emilee didn’t hesitate. She nodded vigorously, her eyes as stubborn as a cornered little beast that still wanted to bite. She tapped the IOU with her free hand.
    Seeing her like this, a flicker of surprise crossed Carlisle’s eyes, quickly followed by a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor.
    For years, he had maintained a strict, self-imposed celibacy, completely immune to the allure of any woman. Countless stunning socialites had tried to bridge the distance, yet none had ever managed to stir even a ripple in his stagnant pool of desire. But now, as her unique scent—a delicate trace of vanilla intertwined with the sharp tang of adrenaline—filled his senses, and the ghost of her cold fingers lingered on his skin, a strange, unfamiliar warmth began to thrum in his veins. It wasn’t a crude, overwhelming lust, but a quiet, undeniable awakening of senses he thought were long dead.
    He looked at this chaotic, heavily made-up wildcat, genuinely caught off guard by the sudden, involuntary tightening of his own muscles. The sheer absurdity that she was the one to make his pulse tick faster after years of absolute numbness was intriguing. If her mere proximity could spark a dormant instinct back to life, perhaps keeping her around wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
    A faint, enigmatic smile touched the corners of his lips.
    “Alright,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a low, gravelly weight that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
    He stood up and towered over her. He picked up his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It engulfed her small frame. It smelled like cedar and power.
    “Let’s go,” he said.
    He led her not to the main door, but to a panel in the wall. A hidden exit.
    At the bottom, a black Maybach was waiting in the alley.
    “City Hall,” he said to the driver. Then he pulled out his phone. “Archer. I need a marriage license prepped. Now. Yes, I’m serious. Get a judge on the line and arrange a judicial waiver for the waiting period. I want it done tonight. Meet me there.”
    Emilee sat huddled in his jacket. She watched him. He was efficient. He was commanding.
    She looked at his watch. A Patek Philippe.
    Carlisle caught her staring. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said coldly. “You can’t pawn that.”
    Emilee looked away, her cheeks heating up under the thick white foundation.
    When they arrived at the City Clerk’s office, a man in a sharp suit was waiting with a folder. He looked stressed.
    “Sir,” the man said, eyeing Emilee’s fishnets with horror. “Are you sure about this?”
    “Give me the pen, Archer,” Carlisle said.
    Emilee signed her name. Her hand shook, but the letters were legible. Emilee Oneill.
    Carlisle signed next to her. His signature was aggressive, sharp.
    She felt a wave of relief so strong it made her dizzy. She was married. According to her mother’s trust fund stipulations, she was now an adult in the eyes of the estate. She was free.

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 2

    The wind outside City Hall was biting. It whipped Emilee’s hair across her face, strands of black sticking to her dark lipstick. She stood on the sidewalk, the marriage certificate clutched tightly in her hand. It was just a piece of paper. But it was the heaviest thing she had ever held.
    Carlisle stood next to her. He buttoned his coat, looking unbothered by the cold or the insanity of the last hour. “Archer,” he said, turning to his assistant, who was already holding out a second, more ominous-looking document and a pen. “The addendum.”
    Carlisle took the document and held it out to Emilee. “One last signature. Consider it a condition of our arrangement. A non disclosure agreement. A silent covenant. You don’t speak about me, my business, or this night to anyone. Ever.”
    Emilee looked from the paper to his cold, unyielding eyes. This was the real price. Not the million-dollar IOU, but her silence, legally weaponized and turned against her. It was a cage of a different kind, but one she was choosing. She took the pen and signed, her signature a final act of surrender.
    “Now,” Carlisle said, turning to her with a commanding presence. “We need to have a conversation about a non disclosure agreement.”
    Before he could finish, Emilee’s phone buzzed frantically in her pocket. Startled, she pulled it out. It was a text from Harper, her stepsister. An image loaded on the screen. It was a photo of a silver Zippo lighter, the flame lit, hovering inches above a canvas. It was one of her mother’s paintings. The last one she had restored before she died.
    Emilee’s hand spasmed. Rage and panic flooded her veins. They were threatening the only thing that mattered to her. She didn’t have time for this conversation.
    She turned to face Carlisle. She knew exactly how powerful and wealthy this billionaire was, and a wave of genuine guilt washed over her for using him like a shield. She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. It was all the cash she had on her. She grabbed Carlisle’s hand, slapping the bills into his warm palm as a token of her sincere apology. The million-dollar IOU she gave him earlier was her genuine promise of compensation, even though she knew he absolutely did not lack money.
    Carlisle looked down at the money. George Washington stared back at him, wrinkled and sad. Forty dollars. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What is this?”
    Emilee held up her phone. She had quickly typed a note in the Notes app. “Cab fare. I am sorry for using you. The million dollars is my real compensation. I will contact you. Keep your phone on.”
    Carlisle read the screen. His jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. “You are tipping me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
    Emilee nodded, giving him a small, awkward thumbs-up. Then, before he could react, she spun around and flagged down a passing yellow taxi. It screeched to a halt, and she dove into the backseat.
    “Hey!” Archer shouted, stepping forward.
    Carlisle raised a hand, stopping him. He stood on the curb, holding the forty dollars and the marriage certificate copy she had left behind in her haste. He watched the taxi merge into traffic. A laugh escaped him. It was short, sharp, and devoid of humor. “She tipped me,” he muttered. He looked at the bills again.
    Carlisle stood on the curb, his expression a complex mix of disbelief and dark amusement. He was a billionaire with a net worth in the hundreds of billions, a man whose hourly asset fluctuations amounted to more than most people earned in a lifetime. And yet, he had just been dismissed with forty dollars by a young girl who looked barely twenty, her face painted with absurdly heavy makeup. He chuckled, genuinely angered by the sheer audacity of it.
    The black Maybach pulled up. Archer opened the back door, looking like he was about to have a stroke. “Sir,” Archer said, his voice trembling. “That was unexpected.”
    Carlisle slid into the car. The warmth of the interior did nothing to thaw the ice in his chest. “Investigate my special new wife,” Carlisle said. He tossed the forty dollars onto the leather seat next to him. “I want to know everything. Who she is. Who sent her. What she wants.”
    Archer tapped on his tablet. “Already on it, sir. I pulled the security footage from the Obsidian Club.” He handed the tablet to Carlisle.
    The video was grainy, black and white. It showed Emilee in the bathroom of the club, moments before she burst into his room. She was leaning over the sink, splashing water on her face. For a brief second, she looked up at the mirror. The camera caught her profile.
    Carlisle paused the video. He zoomed in. The heavy makeup was smeared, revealing the skin beneath. Her bone structure was delicate. Her nose was straight, her jawline soft but defined. But it was her eyes. Even in the grainy footage, they were striking. Large. Expressive. And familiar.
    Carlisle frowned. A memory scratched at the back of his mind, something from a long time ago. Something buried under years of corporate takeovers and family betrayals. He couldn’t place it.
    “She doesn’t look like a spy,” Archer ventured. “She looks scared.”
    “That makes her a good spy,” Carlisle snapped. He handed the tablet back. “Find out where that taxi is going.”
    In the back of the yellow cab, Emilee deliberately left her heavy, grotesque makeup untouched. She delusionally hoped that this bizarre, dark look would scare off the impending danger waiting for her at home. The “useless” daughter. The “mute” girl. The fragile doll.
    She gripped her phone tightly. Words didn’t work on her family. Only leverage worked. And now, she had leverage. She touched her chest, feeling the folded marriage certificate tucked inside her inner pocket.
    The taxi slowed down. They were pulling up to the Oneill Manor. It was a sprawling estate in the Hamptons that seemingly belonged to her and her late mother, but in reality, it had been completely taken over by her father and stepmother. Everything her father owned, every business deal he made, was built on her mother’s fortune. Yet, the moment her mother died, her father immediately married Lydia. He tacitly allowed his new family to humiliate Emilee at every turn. Because of his silent approval, even the servants had begun to insult and mistreat her at will.
    The driveway was lined with cars. Expensive cars. A party. Of course. They were hosting a gala while threatening to burn her mother’s legacy.
    Emilee paid the driver. She didn’t tip. She couldn’t afford to. She stepped out onto the gravel driveway. The cold air hit her face. She felt exposed. Vulnerable. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up.
    The security guard at the gate recognized her. He sneered. “Late again, Princess?” he muttered.
    Emilee didn’t look at him. She walked past him, her boots crunching on the stones. She could hear the music coming from the main house. Laughter. The clinking of glasses. It sounded like a different world.
    She walked around to the side entrance. She wasn’t going to walk in the front door. Not yet. She needed to see the battlefield first.
    She paused at the glass patio doors, looking in. Her father, Gavin Oneill, was standing in the center of the room. He was laughing, holding a glass of champagne. He looked happy. He looked like a man who had just made a very profitable deal.
    Emilee placed her hand on the cold glass. Her reflection stared back at her. Pale. Determined. She wasn’t the scared girl who ran out of here three hours ago. She was a married woman.
    She pushed the door open. The wind rushed in with her, extinguishing a nearby candle. Emilee stepped into the warmth of the lion’s den.

    The Silent Heiress’s Million Dollar Gambit Chapter 3

    Emilee didn’t enter the main hall immediately. She knew this house better than the people who owned it. She knew which floorboards creaked. She knew which doors didn’t latch properly.
    She slipped through the servants’ corridor, her boots silent on the linoleum. She took the back stairs, taking them two at a time. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the music thumping from below. She reached the second-floor landing.
    She crouched in the shadows of the balcony, peering through the banister. The Great Hall was filled with people. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns that cost more than a car. It was a sea of fake smiles and hidden agendas.
    Her eyes scanned the room. There. Her stepmother, Lydia, was draped in emerald green silk. She was clinging to the arm of a man Emilee recognized with a shudder. Mr. Sterling.
    Mr. Sterling was a notorious investor. He was short, balding, and sweating profusely, rubbing his greasy hands together in an impatient, vulgar manner. Emilee had looked into his private life earlier. It was rumored that Sterling had three previous wives, and none of them survived their wedding night. When their bodies were brought out, they were mutilated beyond recognition. The man had a sick obsession with barely legal girls and was known for his ruthless, perverted methods.
    And yet, her own biological father, along with her stepmother, was actively handing her over to this monster just to save a failing company. Pushed to this despicable corner, Emilee had no choice but to save herself.
    “She will be down any minute,” Gavin was saying, bowing slightly with a pathetic, fawning smile, treating Sterling like a god. “She is just preparing herself. You know how shy she is.”
    Lydia chimed in, her posture equally submissive as she poured Sterling more wine. “Oh yes, Mr. Sterling. We have kept her pure and untouched, just for a distinguished man like you.”
    Sterling licked his lips greedily, his eyes darting around nervously. “Shy is good. I cannot wait to tear that shyness apart.”
    Emilee’s stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat. They were selling her. Not metaphorically. Literally. They were trading her for a capital injection to save the failing company.
    Miles away, in the penthouse office of Pierce Global. Carlisle sat behind his massive mahogany desk. The city lights of Manhattan sprawled out behind him, a glittering grid of power. Archer placed a tablet in front of him.
    “We found her,” Archer said. “Emilee Oneill. Eldest daughter of Gavin Oneill, the struggling CEO of Oneill Corp. Her mother was the renowned artist, Seraphina Vance.”
    Carlisle looked at the screen. A student ID photo stared back at him. The girl in the photo was breathtakingly beautiful. She had delicate, flawless features that radiated a pure, untouched elegance, looking completely different from the goth disaster he had just married. He stared at her pretty face, highly surprised by the contrast.
    “She hasn’t spoken in ten years,” Archer continued. “Selective mutism following the car crash that killed her mother.”
    Carlisle tapped the screen. “Mute?”
    “Yes, sir. The family keeps her out of the public eye. Rumor has it she is mentally unstable.”
    Carlisle leaned back. “Unstable people don’t negotiate million-dollar contracts on napkins.”
    “The Oneill company is on the brink of Chapter 11 bankruptcy,” Archer added. “They need cash. This marriage… she could be looking for a payout.”
    “Or,” Carlisle said, his eyes darkening, “she is looking for protection.” He remembered the terror in her eyes. The way she checked the exits.
    “Should I annul it?” Archer asked. “I can have the judge wake up right now.”
    “No,” Carlisle said. He stood up and walked to the window. “If she is a spy, letting her go is dangerous. If she is a gold digger, I want to know who put her up to it.” He turned back to Archer. “Keep the marriage active. And tap into the Oneill Manor security system. I want to see what my wife is up to.”
    Back at the manor. Emilee pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened an app she had coded herself when she was sixteen. It connected to the house’s Bluetooth sound system. Realizing that a ridiculous disguise would not deter a monster like Sterling, Emilee finally walked into the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean.
    Downstairs, Lydia was tapping a spoon against her glass. Ding. Ding. Ding. The room went quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lydia announced, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Please welcome the guest of honor. Our beloved daughter, Emilee.”
    All eyes turned to the grand staircase. Emilee stood up. She stepped out of the shadows. She wasn’t wearing a gown. She was wearing a simple black turtleneck and jeans. Her face was scrubbed clean. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. She looked stark. Real. She began to descend the stairs. Her steps were slow, deliberate.
    Sterling’s jaw dropped. He dropped his champagne flute. It shattered on the marble floor, but no one looked at it. They were looking at her. Without the heavy makeup, without the hood, she was breathtaking. Her beauty was haunting. It was the kind of beauty that made people uncomfortable because it felt too raw. Harper, standing in the corner, turned a shade of red that clashed with her dress. She gripped her wine glass until her knuckles turned white. Gavin’s eyes lit up. He saw dollar signs.
    Lydia recovered first. She rushed to the bottom of the stairs, her arms outstretched. “Darling!” she cried. “You look unique. Come, say hello to Mr. Sterling.” She reached for Emilee’s hand. Emilee sidestepped. Lydia grabbed empty air. She stumbled, her smile faltering.
    Emilee walked past her. She walked straight up to Sterling. The man smelled of sweat and expensive musk. He leered at her, reaching out a hand to touch her face. “Beautiful,” he wheezed. “Worth every penny.”
    Emilee didn’t flinch. She stared at him. Her eyes were cold, dead. She tapped her phone screen. Suddenly, a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech erupted from every speaker in the room. SCREEEEEEEEECH. Guests covered their ears. Glasses rattled on the tables. Sterling recoiled, clutching his head. “What the hell?” The noise was deafening. It was a sonic weapon. And Emilee stood in the center of it, calm, silent, watching them all writhe.

  • Accidentally In Bed With My Ex’s Uncle. Dark Alpha Nero by Marie Jessette

    Accidentally In Bed With My Ex's Uncle. Dark Alpha Nero by Marie Jessette

    Accidentally murdered the bride? Check.
    Forced to marry the cursed Alpha who’s lost six wives? Check.
    Now wearing her dress, dragged to his bed, while the pack waits outside for proof he’s fucked me raw? Double check.
    Remi was just trying to catch her cheating boyfriend in the act.
    Instead, she tripped, ripped lace, and cracked a skull.
    Now Alpha Nero Blackwater owns her.
    “Bride for bride,” he growls. “You owe me a wedding… and a womb.”
    The curse kills his mates before dawn.
    Unless he plants an heir fast.
    But something’s wrong. What if there was never a curse at all?
    One night to survive.
    One claiming to break everything.
    One Alpha who’ll fuck her senseless… even if it’s the last thing she feels.

    Accidentally In Bed With My Ex’s Uncle. Dark Alpha Nero Chapter 1 Some Kind Of Deranged Stalker

    “Are my tits out?”
    Zaya barely glanced over. “A little. Fix the left one.”
    I yanked up the neckline of my dress for the third time. It was too tight, too low-cut, and stole from my sister who apparently had the body of a Victoria’s Secret model. I did not.
    “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Jade whispered from behind the hedge.
    “Because Marcus said I couldn’t come to his uncle’s wedding,” I said, wobbling on heels that were definitely a mistake. “Something about it being Moonstone Pack only.”
    “So we’re crashing another pack’s wedding to prove what exactly?”
    “That I’m not some embarrassing girlfriend he has to hide because I’m from Riverside Pack.” I peeked through the gap in the bushes. 
    The ceremony was already starting. White chairs, string lights in the trees, at least two hundred guests in expensive clothes. 
    Jade snorted. “Or he’s going to be pissed and dump you in front of everyone.”
    “Then at least I’ll know where we stand.”
    “You’re insane,” Zaya muttered, but she was grinning. She lived for this kind of chaos.
    If I’d known what was about to happen, I would’ve turned around right then.
    I spotted Marcus in the third row. Dark hair, broad shoulders, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my rent. We’d been dating for eight months.
    The guy who currently had his arm around another girl.
    My heart stopped.
    “Is that Sophie?” Zaya’s voice went up an octave.
    “No.” I leaned closer, squinting. “That can’t be Sophie. He said only Moonstone Pack could attend. She’s from Landravers pack, but he swore they were just-“
    Marcus leaned over and kissed her. On the mouth. For way too long.
    “That’s definitely Sophie,” Jade confirmed.
    “Oh my god.” My stomach dropped into my feet. “Oh my god, that’s Sophie. He’s-they’re-“
    “Okay, new plan,” Zaya said quickly. “We leave. Right now. We go home, eat ice cream, and you block his number-“
    “He LIED to me.” My voice cracked.
    “Remi, we need to go-“
    “I can’t believe this. I borrowed these torture heels. I’m sneaking in like some kind of deranged stalker-“
    I stepped back, gesturing wildly. My heel caught on something.
    A root. Or a rock. I didn’t know. Didn’t matter.
    I was falling.
    “REMI-“
    I grabbed for the hedge. The branch snapped in my hand.
    And then I was rolling.
    Down the hill. Through decorative flowers. Over what might have been a speaker and what I think was the cake table because something creamy slapped my face on the way down.
    My dress was ripping, my hair was in my face, and all I could think was this is how I die. Death by heartbreak and bad footwear choices.
    I hit the aisle runner with a thud that knocked the air from my lungs.
    For one beautiful, horrible second, everything went silent.
    I was face-down on white fabric. There were shoes nearby. I lifted my head.
    I was at the altar.
    The bride was three feet away, mid-vow, staring at me with her mouth open.
    “What the-“
    I tried to get up, but my hand was tangled in something. White fabric. Lace.
    The train of her dress.
    “Wait, I’m sorry-” I yanked my hand free.
    And then the train ripped.
    The bride stumbled backward with force.
    Her heel caught on the torn fabric.
    She fell.
    Everything happened in slow motion. Her arms windmilling. Her head tilting back. The sickening crack when her skull hit the stone pavement.
    Then silence.
    She wasn’t moving.
    “Oh my god,” someone whispered.
    A man rushed forward. He knelt beside her, pressing fingers to her neck. Checking for a pulse.
    He looked up at the groom. His face was pale.
    “She’s… she’s not breathing.”
    My ears started ringing. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
    Someone in the crowd laughed. “Well. That’s a new record.”
    “She didn’t even make it an hour,” another voice added. “Didn’t even get marked.”
    “Poor Nero. Six times. Has to be some kind of curse.”
    My brain was short-circuiting. Six? What did that mean?
    “Remi?” Marcus stepped forward, still holding Sophie’s hand like she was his emotional support slut. “What are you doing here?”
    I blinked up at him. Frosting dripped down my cheek. “I should’ve tripped on you instead.” 
    Strong hands grabbed my arms. Hauled me to my feet.
    I looked up.
    The groom was standing in front of me. And he was… jesus. He was beautiful. No, that was the wrong word. Devastating. 
    The kind of face that made you forget your own name. He was tall-taller than Marcus, taller than any wolf I’d ever met.. Sharp jaw. 
    Dark hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times. And his eyes-silver. Actual silver, glowing faintly. Alpha eyes.
    My wolf stirred. Interested. Very interested.
    Not now, I told her. We literally just killed someone.
    I forgot where I was.
    I forgot what I’d just done.
    All I could think was: Holy shit, he’s hot.
    “Are you LISTENING to me?”
    I blinked. “Sorry. You’re just very… hot.”
    His eye twitched. Hot.”
    “Yeah. Aggressively. It’s distracting.”
    “You just killed my bride and you’re commenting on my face?”
    Oh. Right. The bride. The murder. Reality came crashing back like a bucket of ice water.
    From somewhere in the bushes, I heard my friends completely losing it.
    “OH MY GOD SHE KILLED SOMEONE-“
    “WE NEED A LAWYER!”
    “RUN, REMI! RUNNNN!”
    “NO, STAY! CONFESS! IT’S MANSLAUGHTER AT MOST-“
    “Was that her SPINE?! I heard cracking!”
    “That was a BRANCH, you idiot-“

    The groom’s grip on my arm tightened. His alpha presence pressed against me, suffocating.  My wolf wanted to submit immediately. I shoved her down.
    His voice dropped to something dangerous. “What pack are you from?”
    “Riverside,” I squeaked. “I’m-I’m nobody. This is a mistake. I didn’t mean to-the branch broke and I fell and..”
    “You’re from Riverside?” he smirked. “And you crashed a Moonstone Pack wedding?”
    “Technically, I crashed through the wedding-“
    “You killed my bride.”
    “That was an accident-“
    “She’s dead.”
    “I KNOW.” My voice broke. “I know, okay? I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do anything-“
    “Anything?”  He looked at me-really looked. Taking in my torn dress, my smeared makeup, the way I was shaking.
    An old woman stepped forward from the crowd. She was smiling.
    “Congratulations, Alpha Nero,” she said cheerfully. “Seems the Moon Goddess has chosen your seventh bride.”
    I choked. “SEVENTH?!”
    “The other six are dead,” he said flatly.
    My blood went cold. “Six. You’ve had SIX wives. And they’re all DEAD?”
    “Yes.”
    “And  I’m number seven?”
    “Correct.”
    “IS THIS A MARRIAGE OR A SURVIVAL GAME?!”
    His jaw ticked. “Both.” Then, to the guards nearby: “Get her cleaned up. We’re finishing the ceremony.”
    “I’M NOT MARRYING YOU-“
    “You killed my bride.” His voice was cold. Final. “You owe me a wedding.”
    “That’s not how marriage works!”
    “It is when you kill an alpha’s intended.” He leaned close. So close I could feel his breath on my face. 
     “Of all the idiots who could’ve killed her,” he said quietly, “it had to be the one with spicy eyes.”
    My brain stuttered. “Spicy… eyes?”
    “Get her dressed,” Nero told the guards. “Ten minutes.”
    “Wait-“
    He was already walking away. Then he looked back over his shoulder.
    “Try not to die tonight,” he said, eyes lingering on my face. “I’m curious about you.”
    Then he was gone.
    Guards grabbed my arms and started dragging me toward a side building.
    “WAIT-” I twisted, trying to see my friends in the bushes. “Jade! Zaya! DON’T LEAVE ME-“
    But they were already running. I saw them disappear into the trees.
    Smart girls.
    I was being pulled through a doorway. Into a room with a vanity and a wedding dress hanging on the wall. The dead bride’s dress.
    A woman appeared with makeup and pins in her hair. She was a wolf too-I could smell it. Moonstone Pack.
    “We need to work fast,” she said, eyeing me critically. “You’re smaller than she was. We’ll have to take in the waist.”
    “I’m not actually doing this,” I said. My voice sounded dreamlike. “This is insane. You can’t force someone to marry-“
    “You killed his bride,” the woman said simply, like that explained everything. “Bride for bride.”
    “It was an accident-“
    “Doesn’t matter.” She started unlacing my torn dress. “You’re here now. And trust me, honey, you do NOT want to refuse Alpha Nero.”
    “Why? What happens if I refuse?”
    She met my eyes in the mirror. And for the first time, I saw genuine pity there.
    She pulled the wedding dress off the hanger. “Let’s just say the last wolf who refused him didn’t walk away.”
    My blood ran cold. “He killed them?”
    “Killing is an understatement.” She held up the dress. “Now put this on. Your groom is waiting.”
    I stared at the dress. 
    Somewhere outside, music started playing.
    The wedding march.
    My wedding march.
    I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Torn dress. Smeared mascara. Leaves in my hair.
    This morning I’d woken up planning to surprise my boyfriend at his uncle’s wedding.
    Now I was about to marry an alpha with six dead wives.
    And if I refused, he would probably kill me.
    “This is not happening,” I whispered.
    The woman smiled sadly. “Honey, it already did.”
    She slipped the dress over my head.
    And I realized I just accidentally murdered my way into a cursed marriage with the most dangerous alpha.
    I was so fucked.

    Accidentally In Bed With My Ex’s Uncle. Dark Alpha Nero Chapter 2 The Wedding Night

    “Do you take this woman-“
    “I’ve done this six times already,” Nero interrupted. “Just skip to the end.”
    The priest’s face went pale. “But Alpha, the sacred vows require…”
    “Five minutes ago, she killed my last bride. I think we can bypass the sacred part.”
    I stood there in a dead woman’s dress, leaves still tangled in my hair, and wondered if this was actually happening or if I’d hit my head harder than I thought when I fell.
    The priest cleared his throat nervously. “Do you, Alpha Nero Blackwater, take this woman as your  bride?”
    “Sure.”
    “And do you-” He squinted at me. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
    “Remi,” I whispered. “Remi Olandria Cross.”
    “Do you, Remi Olandria Cross, take Alpha Nero Blackwater as your husband?”
    I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
    Nero’s hand tightened. “She does,” he said.
    “Actually, I should probably-“
    “She does,” he repeated, louder this time. His eyes met mine. 
    The priest hurried through the rest. Something about the Moon Goddess and eternal bonds and pack law. I wasn’t listening. I was staring at the white sheet covering the bride’s body twenty feet away.
    They’d carried her off to the side. Out of the way. Like she was furniture.
    “I caught a glimpse of her hand before they covered it. Something green under her fingernails. Like… plant residue? Or something else?”
    “You may now kiss the bride.”
    My head snapped up. “Wait, we don’t have to-“
    Nero leaned in close enough that I could smell him. 
    “Your parents,” he said quietly. “Your siblings. Those two friends who ran away. I know where they all live.”
    My blood went cold.
    “So you’re going to kiss me,” he continued, “And you’re going to make it convincing. Understand?”
    I stared at him. 
    “Understand?” he repeated.
    I nodded.
    His hand came up, fingers tilting my chin. And then he kissed me.
    I’d kissed Marcus plenty of times. Sweet kisses. Soft kisses. The kind that made you feel warm and safe.
    This wasn’t that.
    This was heat and possession and something that made my wolf sit up and pay attention.
     His mouth moved against mine and my brain short-circuited. I forgot where I was. Forgot the crowd watching. Forgot everything except the way his thumb brushed my jaw and how my whole body leaned into him without permission.
    Finally, my wolf purred. More of this.
    Shut up, I told her. We’re being threatened.
    He tastes good though.
    He did taste good. Damn it.
    Nero pulled back. There was a smirk on his face.
    “Are you sure you’re my nephew’s girl?” he said, just loud enough for me to hear.
    My face burned. “Fuck  you.”
    “Good. We’re off to a great start.”
    Drums started beating. The crowd shifted, forming lines on either side of us.
    The priestess stepped forward, holding a ceremonial bowl. She was dressed in white robes, her face painted with symbols.
    “The consummation will now proceed,” she announced. “The pack will remain here until confirmation of the Alpha’s heir.”
    Wait.
    What?
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you just say-“
    Oh god.
    They were waiting for us to-
    “No,” I said. “No, no, no-“
    “NERO.”
    An older woman’s voice cut through the crowd. Her eyes were the same silver as Nero’s.
    “Mother,” Nero said flatly.
    “Stop this. Now.”
    “Not really the time-“
    “She’s not one of ours.” His mother looked at me with pure disdain. “She’s not even Moonstone Pack. She’s riverside trash. She won’t last the night-“
    “YOU chose the last six brides,” Nero interrupted. His voice dropped to dangerous. “Every single one. All dead within days. So forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment anymore.”
    His mother’s face went tight. “Your father would roll over in his grave if he knew-“
    “My father is dead. And you’re done picking my brides.” He pulled me closer. “This one’s mine.”
    She stared at him for a long moment. Then her eyes slid to me.
    “Mark my words,” she said quietly. “This one won’t survive till morning.”
    Then she turned and walked away.
    I looked up at Nero. “Your family’s great. Really warm.”
    Nero started walking. I stumbled after him, still in bare feet, the wedding dress dragging on the ground.
    The pack parted for us, forming a processional line. 
    We reached a set of massive doors with guards standing on either side.
    The Alpha chambers.
    My stomach dropped.
    “Wait-” I tried to stop, but Nero kept moving, pulling me with him.
    The pack filed in behind us, lining the hallway. More drums and witnesses.
    This is like a horror movie, I thought wildly. Or one of those dark romance novels where the heroine dies in chapter three. Finally, we reached another door. Nero opened it.
    A massive bedroom with a four-poster bed, dark walls, and candles everywhere.
    He pulled me inside.
    We were alone, but I could hear the pack waiting outside.
    Waiting for proof that we’d-
    “Okay,” I said, my voice too high. “So we don’t actually have to do this, right? You just go back out there and say it’s done and they leave-“
    Nero turned to face me.
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “Evidence must be submitted to the priestess.”
    “Evidence?” My voice cracked. “What kind of evidence?”
    “My seed. Proof of consummation.”
    The room tilted.
    “I’m a virgin,” I blurted out.
    “I know.”
    “How do you-” I stopped. “You know what, I don’t want to know. This is insane. You can’t actually expect me to-“
    He stepped closer. I stepped back. “My bloodline fights the curse. If I leave an heir in you tonight, you have a fighting chance.”
    “The other six didn’t survive.”
    “Luck isn’t something my brides have.” He took another step. “We’re doing this tonight.”
    YES, my wolf said immediately. Finally. Yes. Absolutely yes.
    “Did you miss the part where six women DIED?” I said to her.
    But he’s so-
    “Don’t even finish that sentence.”
    Nero was watching me. He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Strip.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “We’re running out of time. The longer we wait, the stronger the curse gets.”
    “This is-I can’t just-“
    He pulled his shirt off.
    Oh.
    Oh no.
    He was built like he spent every day fighting bears. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that should be illegal.
    See? my wolf said smugly. Death wish. Totally worth it.
    “Stop staring,” Nero said.
    “I’m not staring.”
    “You’re staring.”
    “You took your shirt off in front of me. That’s on you.”
    He almost smiled. Then he turned around, giving me privacy.
    I stared at his back. At the way his muscles moved under his skin. At the scars crisscrossing his shoulders.
    He’d been in fights. Real ones.
    My fingers went to the laces of my dress. I hesitated.
    “I can hear your heartbeat,” he said, not turning around. “You’re terrified.”
    “Six dead wives. You do the math.”
    “Fair point.”
    I unlaced the dress. Let it pool at my feet. I was standing in just my undergarments, shaking.
    I’d been planning to surprise my boyfriend Now I was half-naked in a stranger’s bedroom, about to have sex to maybe-possibly-probably-not survive a curse.
    Nero unbuckled his belt.
    I should’ve looked away.
    I didn’t.
    He pushed his pants down. Stepped out of them. He was in just his briefs now, and I could see everything. The muscles in his thighs. His ass, which was unfairly perfect.
    Such a wild imagination for someone about to die, my wolf teased. And didn’t your boyfriend just cheat on you?
    “He’s objectively attractive,” I muttered. “That’s just facts.”
    Nero climbed into bed. Pulled the sheet over himself. Then he turned to look at me.
    His eyes went wide.
    For the first time since I’d met him, his control cracked.
    His pupils dilated. His breathing changed. I watched his body react under the sheets-watched his arousal become very, very obvious.
    He was BEAUTIFUL.
    Oh god.
    He was hard. Very hard. And there was… a lot of him.
    “Fuck,” he breathed.
    I froze.
    He stared at me like I was the only thing in the world. Like he’d forgotten how to think.
    “You’re-” He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “Fuck.”
    “That’s not a complete sentence.”
    He moved fast. Suddenly, he was right there, kneeling in front of me on the bed, his hand coming up to cup my face.
    “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said. “Spicy eyes.”
    My breath caught. He leaned in, and His thumb traced my bottom lip.
    “I’m going to-“
    “His hand slid down my stomach. Lower. I stopped breathing. This was happening. This was actually-
    Then he stopped.
    His hand dropped, and His whole body went rigid  like he’d just remembered something
    “Get dressed,” he said.
    “What?”
    He grabbed my clothes. Threw them at me.
    “Get dressed. Now.”
    “I thought you said we had to-“
    “Change of plans.” He climbed out of bed, wrapping a towel around himself.
    “But the evidence. The people outside-“
    “I’m the Alpha.” His voice was cold again. Distant. “They listen to me. Not the other way around.”
    “But this gives me a fighting chance against the curse-“
    He spun on me. His eyes flashed silver.
    “Maybe I don’t want you to fight it,” he said quietly. “Maybe I want you dead.”
    I flinched.
    He stared at me for another second. Then he grabbed his pants, pulled them on, and headed for the door.
    “Wait-“
    The door slammed behind him.
    I heard the lock click from the outside.
    He locked me in.
    I stood there, half-naked, holding my dress, and stared at the door.
    Outside, the music was still playing. The pack was still waiting.
    But he’d left me here.
    Alone.
    I pulled my dress back on. My hands were shaking.
    “I’m not dying here,” I said out loud. “I’m not one of those stupid romance novel heroines who dies for some cursed alpha. Fuck that.”
    I needed to get out. Get back to my parents. To Jade and Zaya. To people who actually gave a shit if I lived or died.
    I searched the room. Looked for another exit. A window I could climb out of. A key. Anything.
    Nothing.
    I was about to start trying to pick the lock when I spotted something under the bed.
    A book.
    No. A sketchbook.
    I pulled it out. There were Pages and pages of drawings.
    Creatures. Wolves mid-transformation, but wrong. Twisted. Their bones breaking in ways that shouldn’t be possible.. Notes scribbled in tight handwriting.
    Symbols I didn’t recognize. Runes, maybe.
    He was studying the curse.
    I kept flipping. More sketches. More notes. Then-
    I stopped.
    The page was crumpled. Like someone had tried to throw it away and then changed their mind.
    I smoothed it out.
    It was a drawing of a woman’s face. Beautiful. Detailed. Drawn with care.
    My face.
    My heart stopped.
    I flipped back through the book, searching for a date.
    There In the corner of the page.
    Three months ago.
    Three months before I’d ever crashed that wedding. Three months before I’d ever heard the name Nero Blackwater.
    My hands started shaking.
    Outside, the music finally stopped. The pack was leaving. Giving up on the consummation.
    I stared at my own face in the drawing.
    “This wasn’t an accident,” I whispered.

    Accidentally In Bed With My Ex’s Uncle. Dark Alpha Nero Chapter 3 Black Lace Thong

    Alpha NERO POV
    “Fuck.” I slammed the door to my father’s office so hard the windows rattled.
    I was trying to ignore the fact that I was still hard. Still thinking about her. About the way she’d looked standing there in nothing but scraps of lace, all curves and those fucking eyes that made my wolf want to-
    “Rough night?”
    I spun around. My brother Kade was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too amused for someone who’d just watched another wedding turn into a shitshow.
    “Get out.”
    “That’s no way to talk to your Second.” He pushed off the frame, strolling into the room. “Especially when I’m here to help.”
    “I don’t need help.”
    “You just walked away from a gorgeous woman who was naked in your bed.” He dropped into the chair across from my desk. “Trust me, brother, you need all the help you can get.”
    I glared at him. Kade was two years younger than me, lighter in every way-lighter hair, lighter eyes, lighter approach to life. Where I carried the weight of the pack, he carried designer clothes and an iPad full of interior design apps.
    “She was willing,” he continued, studying his nails. “She was naked. You were very obviously into it. And yet here you are, pacing around Dad’s office like a caged animal while she’s locked in your room. So what happened?”
    “None of your business.”
    “Actually, it is my business. I’m your Second. And also your brother. And also the one who’s going to have to deal with the very angry priestess and the very confused pack tomorrow morning when they find out you didn’t complete the consummation ritual.” He tilted his head. “Again.”
    I turned away, staring out the window at the dark forest beyond. “I had my reasons.”
    “Which were?”
    “Kade-“
    “Come on. This isn’t like you. You usually take every opportunity to sleep with your brides. Especially one that hot.” He paused. “Why’d you stop?”
    I pressed my palms against the desk, trying to find words for something I didn’t understand myself.
    “You remember the woman from my dreams?”
    Silence. Then: “The one you’ve been sketching for months? The face you keep seeing?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What about her?”
    I turned to face him. “It’s her.”
    Kade blinked. “It’s… who?”
    “Remi. The girl downstairs. She’s the woman from my dreams.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
    “I didn’t recognize her at first. Her eyes are different-warmer in the dreams. Kinder. And her hair…” I ran a hand through my own hair, frustrated. “But when she took off the dress, I saw the scar. On her. Same placement as in my dreams.”
    Kade leaned forward. “Nero-“
    “She’s the one. The face I see every time I close my eyes. And tonight she just… appeared. Crashed a wedding, killed my bride, and ended up in my bed.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Tell me that’s not suspicious.”
    “So you think what? She’s a spy? Someone sent her?”
    Kade was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled out his phone. “I did some digging after the ceremony.”
    “And?”
    “She’s nobody, Nero. Like, actually nobody. Works as a bartender at some dive in Riverside territory. Comes from a big family. Father drinks too much. Mother does… let’s just say ‘sketchy business’ and leave it at that.”
    “A bartender,” I repeated.
    “From Riverside. The poorest pack in the region.” He looked up. “So the question what the hell was our nephew doing with her?”
    That was a good question.
    “Or,” Kade said slowly, “the Moon Goddess has a twisted sense of humor.”
    I shot him a look.
    Fair point.
    We sat in silence for a moment.
    “You should’ve slept with her,” Kade said finally. “Consummation would give her a fighting chance against the curse. You know that.”
    “Don’t remind me of my mistake.”
    “Oh, it was a mistake?” Kade’s eyebrows rose. “So you DO want to sleep with her.”
    “You can’t imagine how much I’m regretting not finishing what I started.”
    “Nero-“
    I thought for a moment. “Prepare a peace offering basket for the dead bride’s parents. The usual-gold, apology letter, blood money.”
    “And for Remi’s family?”
    “Same thing. They’ll need it for her funeral.”
    Kade froze. “You really think she’s going to die tonight.”
    “They all do.” My voice was flat. “Might as well dig both graves now. Same plot as the others. Save time.”
    “That’s dark, even for you.”
    Kade studied me. A clock chimed. It was almost midnight.
    “Shit,” Kade said. “Nero, we need to-“
    “I know.” I was already moving toward the door.
    “Your room. Now.”
    We reached my chambers-not the ones where I’d left Remi, but my real chambers. The ones with reinforced walls and chains built into the bedframe.
    Kade locked the door behind us.
    “Lie down,” he said.
    He moved quickly, securing the chains around my wrists. Heavy iron, blessed by the priestess. The only thing strong enough to hold an Alpha.
    He finished with my wrists and moved to my ankles. The chains were long enough that I could move, but not long enough to break free. Not long enough to hurt myself or anyone.
    “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” I said.
    Kade looked up. “Remi?”
    “And Kade?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Make sure the chains are tight. I don’t want… incidents.”
    He tested each lock again, yanking on them hard enough to make sure they held.
    “Tight enough?” Kade asked.
    I tested them, pulling hard. The chains held. “Good.”
    Kade squeezed my shoulder. “Get some sleep. Or, you know, whatever passes for sleep when you’re chained to a bed.”
    Then he was gone.
    I was alone.
    I closed my eyes and thought about her. About Remi. About the way she’d looked at me right before I’d told her I wanted her dead.
    I’d lied.
    REMI POV That Night
    I was still staring at the drawing when I heard footsteps outside the door.
    I grabbed the first thing I could reach-a heavy candlestick-and pressed myself against the wall beside the door.
    If someone was coming to kill me, I was going out swinging.
    The lock clicked.
    The door opened.
    A man walked in. Not Nero. This one was leaner, prettier, and moved like a dancer.
    “Hello, sister-in-law,” he said cheerfully.
    I raised the candlestick. “Take one more step and I’ll bash your skull in.”
    He looked at the candlestick. Then at me. Then he smiled.
    “Oh, I REALLY like you. Nero’s going to have so much fun with this one.”
    “Who the fuck are you?”
    “Kade. Nero’s brother.” He held up a shopping bag. “I come bearing gifts.”
    “I don’t want gifts. I want answers.”
    “Can’t help you there. But I can help you out of that tragic dress situation you’ve got going on.” He tossed me the bag. “You can’t sleep in a dead woman’s wedding gown. That’s just depressing.”
    I caught the bag reflexively. “Nero sent you?”
    “Nero’s… busy.” Something flickered across his face. “I’m here on my own.”
    I opened the bag slowly and pulled out what was inside.
    A black lace thong. Matching bra. And absolutely nothing else.
    “Are you KIDDING me?” I held up the thong. It was basically a string. “Where’s the rest of it?”
    Kade grinned. “That is the rest of it.”
    “This is lingerie.”
    “That IS clothes. Very expensive clothes, actually. You’re welcome.”
    I threw the thong at his face. He caught it, laughing.
    “I’m not wearing this,” I said.
    “Your choice. But the alternative is sleeping in that.” He nodded at the bloodstained wedding dress. “And trust me, that’s not doing you any favors.”
    I glared at him. Then at the dress. He had a point..
    “Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”
    He laughed. “I like you. You’ve got bite.”
    “I’ve got questions. Are you going to answer them or not?”
    “Not.” He pushed off the frame. “But I will tell you this: my brother’s not the monster everyone thinks he is.”
    “Six dead wives would suggest otherwise.”
    “Six cursed wives,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
    “You should get some sleep.” He backed toward the door. “Big day tomorrow. Assuming you survive the night.”
    “Wait-“
    “Goodnight, sister-in-law. Try not to die before breakfast.”
    He closed the door.
    I couldn’t sleep for hours. I lay on the bed, thinking about how I got into this mess.
    Then, A sound came from outside my door. Then again.
    Chains rattling.
    It was coming from down the hall.
    From Nero’s direction. Whatever monster lived in that room…
    I was married to it now.

  • One Night With My Billionaire Boss by Nathaniel Stone

    One Night With My Billionaire Boss by Nathaniel Stone

    I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

    Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers.

    He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement.

    “Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins.”

    He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes.

    I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn’t understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe.

    “Showtime, Mrs. Gardner.”

    Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn’t just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

    One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 1

    Pain was the first thing Hali Andrews registered. It was a sharp, rhythmic thudding behind her temples, the kind of hangover headache that promised a day of misery. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let the morning light assault her retinas just yet. She shifted, expecting the lumpy comfort of her old mattress in Brooklyn, but the sheets beneath her fingers felt wrong. They were too smooth. Too cool. Silk.

    She frowned, her fingers curling into the fabric. The scent in the air was different, too. Her apartment usually smelled of stale coffee and the vanilla candle she burned to mask the scent of the city. This air smelled expensive. It was a crisp blend of cedar, cold sandalwood, and something uniquely masculine.

    Hali reached out blindly toward where her nightstand should be, fumbling for her phone to check the time. Her hand did not find wood or plastic. Instead, her palm landed on the rumpled mattress. The high-thread-count sheets were indented, holding the lingering, intense body heat of someone who had just vacated the spot.

    Hali froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

    She snapped her eyes open.

    The room was vast, bathed in the soft gray light of a Manhattan morning. But Hali did not look at the floor-to-ceiling windows or the modern art on the walls. Her gaze was locked on the frosted glass door of the en-suite bathroom, where the heavy drumming of a running shower echoed through the quiet suite.

    The memories of the previous night crashed into her mind like a tidal wave. The charity gala. The endless trays of champagne she had consumed to numb the boredom. The elevator ride where the air had suddenly become too thin. The heat of his hand on her waist. The way the door to the penthouse suite had clicked shut, sealing her fate.

    Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. She stopped breathing. This was a catastrophe. This was the end of her career. If Irving found out…

    Irving. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had called him three times last night. He had not answered. That was why she drank the champagne. That was why she was here.

    She snatched her hand back as if burned, clutching it to her chest. She had to leave. Now. Before he finished his shower.

    Hali moved with painstaking slowness, inching toward the edge of the bed. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She managed to sit up, swinging her legs over the side, her feet sinking into a plush carpet that probably cost more than her student loans.

    She looked around frantically for her clothes. Her dress, a vintage piece she had altered herself to look like a designer gown, was lying in a heap near the door. It was ruined. The zipper was torn, the fabric ripped at the seam. A visceral memory of Ezra’s hands tearing it off her flashed through her mind, making her face burn.

    She could not wear that. She was naked, stranded in the lion’s den, with no armor.

    Suddenly, the water in the bathroom cut off. The silence that followed was worse than the noise.

    Hali grabbed the silk sheet and pulled it up to her chin, scrambling backward until her back hit the headboard. She felt like a cornered animal.

    The bathroom door clicked open.

    Ezra walked out. He was fully awake, alert. There was no morning grogginess in his eyes, only a terrifying, predatory clarity. He wore a black towel low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders and tracking down the defined ridges of his abdomen. He moved with a stiff, controlled grace. The towel hung low enough to obscure his upper legs completely, revealing nothing but muscle. His presence filled the room, sucking the oxygen out of the air.

    He looked at her. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes sweeping over her, clutching the sheet. He did not look embarrassed. He did not look regretful. He looked like he was in a boardroom meeting.

    “Good morning, Hali.”

    Hali opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat, her voice trembling when she finally spoke. “Mr. Gardner. I… this was… I need to leave.”

    Ezra didn’t respond immediately. He walked past the bed, his movement fluid yet careful, toward the massive walk-in closet. He disappeared for a moment and returned holding a garment bag and a box.

    He placed them on the foot of the bed.

    “Wear these,” he said.

    Hali stared at the logo on the box. Chanel. She looked back at him, confusion warring with her panic.

    Ezra leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Given the events of last night, and my position, we need to discuss the path forward.”

    Hali blinked. “What?”

    “Marriage,” Ezra said. The word hung in the air, heavy and absurd.

    Hali let out a choked laugh. It was a hysterical sound. “Excuse me?”

    Ezra’s face remained impassive. “A scandal involving the CEO and a junior assistant would be detrimental to the stock price, especially with a vital, confidential brand acquisition currently in the sensitive negotiation phase. A sudden marriage, however, can be spun as a whirlwind romance. It stabilizes the board. It solves the PR crisis before it begins.”

    Hali stared at him. He was discussing their night together-a night where he had touched her in ways that made her burn just thinking about it-as if it were a line item on a quarterly report.

    “That is insane,” Hali whispered. “I am not marrying you for a stock price.”

    Ezra tilted his head slightly. “It is a contract. A business arrangement. You will be compensated.”

    “I have a boyfriend,” Hali blurted out.

    The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Ezra’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them.

    “The creative director,” Ezra said, his tone dismissive, as if referring to a minor clerical error. “He is an obstacle, but hardly an insurmountable one.”

    “Yes,” Hali said, lifting her chin, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. “Irving.”

    “He didn’t answer your calls last night,” Ezra stated. It wasn’t a question.

    Hali flinched. “That doesn’t mean…”

    “Get dressed, Hali.” Ezra pushed off the dresser and turned his back to her, walking toward the coffee machine in the corner of the suite. “The car is waiting downstairs.”

    Hali watched his back, the muscles shifting under his skin. He was dismissing her. He had dropped a bomb and then dismissed her.

    She grabbed the box and the garment bag and sprinted into the bathroom, locking the door with trembling fingers.

    She leaned against the cool marble of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a disaster. Her lips were swollen. There were red marks on her neck and collarbone, undeniable evidence of Ezra’s mouth.

    She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing hard, trying to wash away the memory of his hands. It didn’t work.

    She opened the garment bag. It was a tweed suit, a classic Chanel silhouette but with a modern, edgy cut. It was from the upcoming collection. It hadn’t even hit the stores yet.

    She put it on. It fit perfectly.

    A chill went down her spine. The waist, the bust, the length of the skirt. It fit remarkably well-standard sample size, perhaps, or maybe he just had an eerily accurate eye for proportions.

    She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to know. She opened the box. Underwear. La Perla. Black lace. Also her size.

    She dressed quickly, her hands shaking so badly she could barely fasten the buttons. She felt like a doll he had dressed up. She shoved her ruined dress into the trash can, unable to look at it.

    When she emerged from the bathroom, Ezra was sitting on a velvet sofa, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He gestured to a second cup on the table.

    “Drink. You’ll need it.”

    “No,” Hali said. She grabbed her purse from the floor. “I’m leaving. We are going to pretend this never happened. I am going to work, and I am going to be a junior assistant, and you are going to be the CEO, and we will never speak of this again.”

    She walked toward the door, her heels sinking into the carpet.

    “Hali,” Ezra’s voice stopped her. It was quiet, but it commanded obedience. “Running doesn’t solve problems.”

    She paused, her hand hovering over the door handle. She didn’t turn around. “It solves this one.”

    She yanked the door open and stepped into the corridor. It was empty. She practically ran to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly as if that would make it arrive faster.

    When the doors slid open, she stepped inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, closing her eyes. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt.

    The elevator descended, the numbers counting down. 40… 30… 20…

    When the doors opened at the lobby, she kept her head down, using her hair as a shield. She walked fast, ignoring the doorman, pushing through the revolving doors into the crisp morning air.

    She took a deep breath, thinking she had made it. She was free.

    A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb, blocking her path. The rear window rolled down smoothly.

    Finley Butler, the company’s head of legal and Ezra’s right hand, sat in the driver’s seat. He looked at her with a polite, professional smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

    “Ms. Andrews,” Finley said. “Mr. Gardner instructed me to take you home.”

    Hali froze. She looked left, then right. There were no taxis. The subway was three blocks away. She was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit that wasn’t hers.

    She was trapped.

    One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 2

    Hali stared at Finley, her grip on her purse tightening until her knuckles turned white. The morning sun glared off the polished black paint of the Maybach, stinging her tired eyes.

    “I can take the subway,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

    Finley didn’t stop smiling. “The doorman is watching, Ms. Andrews. And I believe the paparazzi are often camped out at the corner café this time of morning hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Gardner. It would be best to get in.”

    Hali glanced back at the building entrance. The doorman was indeed watching, his eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the junior assistant in Chanel standing next to the CEO’s car.

    She grit her teeth and opened the back door, sliding onto the leather seat. The interior smelled faintly of the same sandalwood scent that clung to her skin. It was suffocating.

    Finley pulled away from the curb effortlessly, merging into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. The partition between the front and back was down. Hali stared out the window, watching the blur of yellow taxis and pedestrians.

    “Where to?” Finley asked, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.

    “Brooklyn,” she said, giving him her address. It felt wrong to say the street name in this car. It was like mixing oil and water.

    Finley nodded. “Brooklyn. A long drive.”

    The silence that followed was heavy. Hali picked at a loose thread on the seat-wait, there were no loose threads in a Maybach. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop fidgeting.

    “Mr. Gardner rarely loses control,” Finley said suddenly. His tone was casual, conversational, as if he were commenting on the weather. “You must be… unexpected.”

    Heat flared in Hali’s cheeks, burning hot and fast. She felt the blood rush to her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was the champagne. It was a mistake.”

    Finley hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Mistakes usually don’t involve archival Chanel.”

    Hali looked down at the suit. The fabric was soft against her skin, a constant reminder of the man who had given it to her. She remembered the way Ezra had looked at her last night in the elevator. There had been a hunger in his eyes that terrified her. And she had pulled his tie. She remembered that now. She had pulled him down to her.

    She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

    Her phone buzzed in her hand. She jumped, her heart skipping a beat. It was a text from Irving.

    “Hey babe. Sorry I missed your calls. Passed out early last night. Crazy week. Morning coffee?”

    Hali stared at the screen. Passed out early.

    She looked at the timestamp of her last call to him: 11:45 PM. Irving was a night owl. He never slept before 2 AM.

    A knot of unease tightened in her stomach. He was lying. But why?

    Then, a darker, colder thought washed over the suspicion. The date. She did the mental math quickly, counting the days on her internal calendar.

    She felt the blood drain from her face.

    “Stop the car,” she said. Her voice was sharp, urgent.

    Finley frowned, glancing in the mirror. “Ms. Andrews? We are in the middle of-“

    “Please, stop. There’s a CVS right there. I need… I need something.”

    Finley’s eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her pale face. He understood. He didn’t say a word, just signaled and pulled the massive car over to the curb in front of the pharmacy.

    Hali didn’t wait for him to open the door. She scrambled out, nearly tripping in the borrowed heels.

    The fluorescent lights of the pharmacy were harsh. She walked straight to the family planning aisle, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt like everyone was looking at her. The woman in the hair care aisle. The teenager buying soda. They all knew.

    She grabbed the small box of Plan B. One pill. Fifty dollars. A small price to pay to erase a life-altering mistake, even if the tiny print on the back warned of its diminishing efficacy window.

    She took it to the counter. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, scanned the box. She looked at Hali’s expensive suit, then at her messy hair, then at the box. She didn’t say anything, but her expression screamed judgment.

    Hali paid cash. She didn’t want a paper trail. She shoved the box into her bag and walked out, keeping her head down.

    When she got back into the car, Finley didn’t ask what she had bought. He simply merged back into traffic. But the air in the car had changed. It felt heavier.

    “He suspects,” Hali thought. And if he suspects, he will tell Ezra.

    She sat in silence for the rest of the ride, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. When the car finally pulled up to her worn-down apartment building in Brooklyn, the contrast was stark. The peeling paint of the entryway looked pathetic next to the gleaming black metal of the car.

    “Thank you,” Hali muttered, pushing the door open.

    “Ms. Andrews,” Finley said.

    She paused, looking back.

    “Ezra is a man who takes care of his assets,” Finley said. His voice was devoid of mockery now. It was a warning. Or maybe a promise.

    Hali slammed the door shut and ran up the steps to her building.

    She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly she dropped them twice. Finally, she got the door open and stumbled into her apartment. She locked the deadbolt, threw the chain, and leaned back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor.

    It was quiet. Safe.

    She pulled the box out of her bag. Her hands trembled as she tore the foil packaging. The small white pill looked innocuous.

    She went to the kitchen, filled a glass with tap water, and swallowed the pill. It scraped against her dry throat.

    Almost immediately, a wave of nausea rolled over her. It was psychosomatic, she knew, but she still gagged, clutching the edge of the sink.

    She needed to get this scent off her. She needed to get Ezra off her skin.

    She went to the bathroom and stripped off the Chanel suit. She looked at herself in the mirror. The bruises on her neck were darkening. A love bite right over her pulse point.

    She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw and red, trying to erase the ghost of his touch.

    When she finally stepped out, wrapped in her old, fraying bathrobe, she felt hollowed out. She bundled the Chanel suit and the lingerie into a plastic bag and shoved it into the back of her closet, behind her winter coats. She never wanted to see it again.

    Her phone buzzed again. It was Lia, her best friend and a junior designer at the firm.

    “Did you see Irving last night? I swear I saw him at The Box around 1 AM.”

    Hali stared at the message. The Box. A nightclub.

    Irving had texted her saying he was asleep.

    The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. He lied.

    Why would he lie about being at a club? Unless he wasn’t alone.

    In the front seat of the Maybach, blocks away, Finley typed a message on his encrypted phone.

    “She visited the pharmacy. She looks ill. Urgent.”

    Across the city, in the penthouse suite, Ezra Gardner looked at the message. The phone in his hand creaked under the pressure of his grip.

    He stared at the words, his jaw tightening until a muscle feathered in his cheek. He closed his eyes, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he snapped the fountain pen he was holding in half. Ink bled onto his fingers, black as oil.

    One Night With My Billionaire Boss Chapter 3

    Monday morning arrived with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Hali stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the collar of her thickest, highest cashmere sweater. It was charcoal gray and stiflingly warm for September, but it was the only thing that effectively hid the bruising on her neck.

    She applied an extra layer of concealer under her eyes, trying to mask the shadows left by a sleepless weekend. The nausea from the Plan B had settled into a dull, constant ache in her lower abdomen.

    She checked her phone. No new messages from Irving since his Sunday night “hope you had a good weekend” text. She hadn’t replied.

    On the subway ride to Midtown, Hali obsessively refreshed Irving’s Instagram. Nothing. His tagged photos were clean. But the doubt planted by Lia’s text had taken root and was growing fast.

    She swiped her badge at the turnstiles of Gardner Holdings, the beep sounding like an accusation. The lobby was a hive of activity, heels clicking on marble, the hum of ambition and caffeine filling the air.

    Hali kept her head down, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline. She made it to the design department without running into anyone important.

    Her cubicle was exactly as she had left it: cluttered with fabric swatches, sketches, and half-finished mood boards. It felt like a different lifetime.

    Yara, the department gossip and Hali’s work friend, rolled her chair over the moment Hali sat down.

    “Oh my god, you look like death,” Yara whispered, her eyes wide. “But listen. The rumor mill is on fire.”

    Hali’s heart skipped a beat. She forced a smile, booting up her computer. “What else is new?”

    “No, this is big. Someone from the cleaning crew said they found a woman’s dress in Ezra’s penthouse suite on Saturday morning. Ripped.”

    Hali’s hand jerked, splashing hot coffee onto her wrist. She hissed, grabbing a tissue.

    Yara leaned in closer. “They say he took someone home from the gala. Everyone is trying to guess who. Some say it was that model, Kaia. Others think it might be a socialite.”

    Hali wiped her wrist, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Or maybe a junior assistant who wants to die,” she thought.

    “Probably a model,” Hali said, her voice sounding thin to her own ears.

    Just then, Nolan Hayes, the Design Director, swept through the aisles. He paused at Hali’s desk, picking up a sketch she had left out-a rough charcoal drawing of a structured bodice.

    “Interesting lines, Andrews,” Nolan murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Very aggressive. It has a certain… disruptive quality. Reminds me of the avant-garde movement in Berlin.”

    Hali froze. The blood drained from her face. “Oh, I… I was just doodling. It’s nothing.”

    Nolan hummed, dropping the sketch back onto the desk. “Don’t be so modest. I need you in the concept meeting this afternoon. Taking notes. 2 PM.”

    He walked away before she could protest.

    Hali exhaled, sinking into her chair. Being noticed was dangerous. She had to be more careful.

    A ping from her computer drew her attention. A small notification box popped up in the bottom right corner of her screen. It was from the company’s internal messaging system, Slack.

    New Friend Request.

    Hali frowned. Who added people as friends on Slack? It was usually automatic.

    She clicked the notification.

    User: E.G.

    Role: CEO

    Hali stared at the screen. The avatar was a black square.

    Ezra.

    Her breath hitched. He was adding her. On the company server. Where IT could see. Where anyone looking over her shoulder could see.

    Her mouse hovered over the Accept button. Her finger trembled. This was a power move. He was invading her workspace, reminding her that he was everywhere, asserting his dominance even through a digital screen.

    She gritted her teeth. No. She wasn’t going to play this game. She wasn’t his fiancée. She was his employee.

    She moved the cursor to the Decline button and clicked.

    Request Declined.

    She sat back, her heart racing. She had just rejected the CEO. She was insane. She was going to be fired.

    Five minutes passed. Hali tried to focus on a spreadsheet, but the numbers were swimming.

    The phone on her desk rang. The shrill sound made her jump.

    “Design Department, Hali Andrews,” she answered, her voice tight.

    “Ms. Andrews,” Finley Butler’s smooth voice came through the line. “Mr. Gardner would like to see you in his office. Now.”

    Hali closed her eyes. Of course.

    “I’m in the middle of preparing for-“

    “Now, Ms. Andrews.”

    The line went dead.

    Hali hung up the phone slowly. Yara was looking at her with pity. “You’re getting called to the principal’s office? What did you do?”

    “Nothing,” Hali said, standing up. Her legs felt like jelly.

    She walked to the elevator banks, clutching her notebook to her chest. She pressed the button for the penthouse floor.

    The ride up was agonizingly fast. The doors opened onto the 45th floor, a space of quiet luxury and terrifying silence.

    Finley was seated at his desk outside the double mahogany doors. He looked up, his expression neutral.

    “Go right in.”

    Hali walked to the door and knocked.

    “Enter.”

    She pushed the door open. Ezra was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. He was wearing a suit that cost more than her father-if she knew who he was-probably made in a year.

    He turned slowly. He held his phone in his hand. The screen was lit up.

    Hali stopped in the middle of the room, keeping a safe distance.

    “You wanted to see me, Mr. Gardner?”

    Ezra didn’t answer immediately. He walked toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. He stopped two feet away, invading her personal space.

    He held up the phone. On the screen was the notification: Hali Andrews declined your request.

    He looked at her, his dark eyes boring into hers.

    “Is this how you treat your fiancé?” he asked, his voice low and laced with a dangerous calm.

    “I’m not your fiancé,” Hali whispered, backing up until her heels hit the wood of the door behind her.

    Ezra followed, placing one hand on the doorframe above her head, boxing her in. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her again, triggering a sensory flashback to the silk sheets and his warm skin.

    “We are negotiating,” Ezra said, leaning down until his mouth was inches from her ear. “And declining a friend request is a poor opening move, Hali.”

  • Поздно Сожалеть: Гениальная Наследница, Автор: Missing Link

    Поздно Сожалеть: Гениальная Наследница, Автор: Missing Link

    Ослепнув после аварии, Кирилла отвергли все светские львицы, кроме Эвелины, которая без колебаний вышла за него замуж. Через три года он вновь обрёл зрение и расторг их брак. «Мы уже потеряли столько лет. Я не позволю ей тратить на меня ещё».
    Эвелина подписала бумаги о разводе, не сказав ни слова. Все насмехались над ней, пока не узнали, что чудо-доктор, ювелирный магнат, биржевой гений, лучший хакер и настоящая дочь миллиардера… это всё она.
    Когда Кирилл пвернулся к ней, безжалостный магнат выгнал его из дома. «Теперь она моя жена. Проваливай».

    Поздно Сожалеть: Гениальная Наследница Глава 1 Давай разведёмся

    Накануне третьей годовщины свадьбы Кирилл Гордеев выиграл пару редких сапфировых серёг на элитном аукционе и тихо сказал: «Это для человека, которому я обязан больше всего, – моей любимой».

    Его жена Эвелина Молотова, находясь дома, едва не расплакалась, когда смотрела аукцион по телевизору. Завтра их третья годовщина, и, возможно, Кирилл наконец-то осознал, насколько она ему предана.

    Бабушка Кирилла, Людмила Гордеева, вздохнула с удовлетворением. «Наконец-то Кирилл понял ценность своей жены».

    Следующим вечером, едва Эвелина завершила приготовления к изысканному ужину, как в дверях появился Кирилл.

    Девушка поприветствовала супруга, быстро взяла его портфель и потянулась за пальто.

    «Сегодня настоящий пир, – беспечно сказал мужчина. – Что-то случилось?»

    Высокий и обаятельный, Кирилл держался непринуждённо. Даже развязывая галстук, он делал это с такой выверенной небрежностью, будто позировал для модного журнала.

    Однако каким-то образом ему всегда удавалось охладить пыл Эвелины всего несколькими словами. Её пальцы неуверенно замерли, и она тихо сказала: «Ты ведь не забыл, правда?»

    Нет, этого не может быть. Он ведь купил те бесценные сапфировые серьги, чтобы загладить свою вину, не так ли?

    Брови Кирилла слегка сошлись на переносице. «Что забыл, Эвелина?»

    «Сапфировые серьги. Ты ведь их купил, да?» – её сердце сжалось от беспокойства, но надежда пока оставалась.

    «Откуда ты знаешь об этих серьгах?» – искренне удивился мужчина. Он явно не ожидал, что его скромная, незаметная жена следит за такими роскошными вещами.

    На его губах мелькнула лёгкая ухмылка, в которой сквозило презрение.

    Безусловно, Эвелина обладала природной красотой – нежными чертами лица и выразительными глазами, – но упорно отказывалась выставлять её напоказ. Она одевалась просто и выглядела неприметной и блёклой, как увядший цветок.

    Даже служанка Гордеевых казалась более утончённой, чем Эвелина.

    И всё же девушка собралась с духом и осторожно взглянула на него. «Я видела трансляцию аукциона. Эти серьги действительно прекрасны».

    Кирилл резко оборвал её: «Они для Елены, – при упоминании его первой любви, Елены Броловой, голос мужчины заметно смягчился. – Она наконец согласилась вернуться ко мне. Конечно же, я хотел найти что-то по-настоящему особенное для её возвращения».

    Эвелину пронзила острая боль в груди, а дыхание внезапно перехватило.

    Выходит, человеком, перед которым он чувствовал себя обязанным, являлась Елена Бролова – та самая девушка, что его бросила?

    А что тогда для него значила она, преданная жена, которая провела с ним три года, ни на что не жалуясь?

    Не в силах вынести этого, Эвелина дрогнувшим от боли голосом произнесла: «Кирилл, ты забыл, по чьей вине произошла авария, в результате которой ты ослеп?»

    В тот ужасный день Елена устроила истерику по незначительному поводу, отвлекла Кирилла и спровоцировала аварию.

    Когда появились новости о том, что он, вероятно, навсегда потерял зрение, Елена быстро исчезла, придумав неубедительное оправдание, и в тот же день сбежала за границу. Она не оставила никаких следов.

    При этом они до этого разослали всем приглашения на свадьбу. Однако никто не смог найти ни Елену, ни её семью.

    Если бы в последний момент не появилась Эвелина, семья Гордеевых оказалась бы в центре скандала.

    «Ты ничего об этом не знаешь! – резко огрызнулся Кирилл. – Лена не виновата! – он не собирался выслушивать критику в адрес своей так называемой истинной любви. – Лена сделала мне операцию на глазах, – ответил мужчина, защищаясь. – Если бы мне случайно не раскрыли правду, я никогда не узнал бы всего того, что она тайно для меня сделала».

    Ошеломлённая Эвелина не могла вымолвить ни слова. «Что… ты сказал?»

    Эвелина лично делала ему операции, поскольку его бабушка практически умоляла её о помощи. Она провела три критические процедуры, доведя себя до изнеможения. Девушка проводила бесчисленные бессонные ночи, ухаживая за ним, так и не раскрыв, что является тем самым знаменитым врачом, Соколиным Глазом.

    Каким образом Елене досталась вся слава?

    «Ты уверен? Ты веришь всем слухам?»

    «Конечно. Лена стала последней ученицей профессора Леонида Миронова, и лишь она во всём мире имеет квалификацию для проведения подобных операций», – ответил Кирилл с непоколебимой гордостью и благодарностью.

    Однако разве не Эвелина была последней ученицей профессора Миронова? Как долго Елена притворялась ею?

    Эвелине отчаянно хотелось немедленно раскрыть обман Елены, но она быстро вспомнила о смерти своего наставника полгода назад.

    Конечно, после такого Елена решила вернуться.

    После смерти Леонида никто не мог оспорить заявления Елены. А Кирилл, полностью выздоровевший благодаря заботе Эвелины, теперь обладал значительным влиянием в качестве главы Гордеев Групп. Елена выбрала идеальный момент.

    Эвелина не располагала ни доказательствами, ни возможностью раскрыть истину. Девушка с горечью в голосе тихо спросила: «Тогда что ты вообще здесь сегодня делаешь? Разве ты не должен праздновать с Леной?»

    Эвелина почувствовал боль в сердце и в отчаянии сорвала фартук.

    Кирилл равнодушно бросил: «Я устал, Эвелина. Давай положим конец этому браку. Мы договорились на три года, и я терпел достаточно долго».

    Долго терпел? Как он посмел так небрежно игнорировать все её жертвы?

    Три долгих года она жертвовала собой, вкладывая всю душу в его исцеление от слепоты, создавая того могущественного человека, которым он стал.

    Не обратив ни малейшего внимания на страдание в её глазах, Кирилл хладнокровно извлёк папку с документами на развод, которые заранее подготовил. «Почитай. Если нет возражений, подпиши. Я уже потратил достаточно времени и больше не буду заставлять Лену ждать».

    Пробежав глазами документы, Эвелина с горечью остановилась на условиях развода: квартира на окраине, потрёпанная машина, на которой она ездила за продуктами, и жалкие три миллиона.

    Невероятно. Его дерзость поражала.

    Он купил сапфировые серьги стоимостью в триста миллионов для женщины, виновной в его слепоте, а жене, которая его спасла, предложил жалкие три миллиона.

    Три миллиона не покрыли бы даже стоимость одной из её операций, не говоря уже о компенсации бесчисленных процедур, от которых она отказалась за эти три года, пока заботилась о нём.

    «Если хочешь больше…»

    Кирилл ожидал слёз и мольбы Эвелины. Однако та тихонько усмехнулась, взяла ручку и решительно подписала документы.

    Кирилл растерялся, поскольку не ожидал, что она так быстро сдастся. Эвелина была сиротой. Неужели она действительно откажется от комфортной жизни?

    Возвращая подписанные бумаги, девушка холодно и чётко сказала: «Всё кончено. Только не пожалей о своём выборе».

    Поздно Сожалеть: Гениальная Наследница Глава 2 Возвращение королевы

    Кирилл на мгновение опешил, но быстро взял себя в руки. «Конечно, я об этом не пожалею. Но поскольку ты согласилась на развод, то сама объясняй бабушке его причину».

    Кирилл прекрасно понимал, что Людмила признаёт только Эвелину своей настоящей невесткой. Если она узнает эту новость, то обрушит на него всю свою ярость.

    И, естественно, Кирилл ожидал, что Эвелина возьмёт на себя вину.

    Не поднимая взгляда, девушка спокойно возразила: «Я не собираюсь ей ничего объяснять. За последние три года я за всё отплатила Людмиле. Разве ты не безумно влюблён в Лену? Что случилось? Неужели ты настолько малодушен, что не можешь смотреть бабушке в глаза?»

    Выросшая в приюте, Эвелина получила образование исключительно благодаря щедрости Людмилы.

    Поэтому, когда семье Гордеевых срочно потребовалась замена невесты, девушка с готовностью согласилась.

    Её не испугало, когда Кирилл потерял зрение. Она добросовестно выполняла свои обязанности, неустанно заботилась о нём и безропотно вела хозяйство.

    Девушка выдвинула лишь скромную просьбу – трёхлетний срок. Если бы Кирилл не полюбил её за это время, они мирно расстались бы.

    И вот, наконец, она обрела свободу.

    «Истинная любовь побеждает всё, – сухо ответила Эвелина с лёгким сарказмом в голосе. – Я искренне надеюсь, что твоя идеальная сказка продлится вечно».

    Когда девушка потянулась за ключами от машины, на её пути внезапно возникла Мария Гордеева, младшая сестра Кирилла.

    «Эвелина, я слышала, что ты разводишься с моим братом. Этот автомобиль – собственность семьи Гордеевых, ты не можешь его забрать!»

    Эвелина холодно усмехнулась. «Я сама заплатила за эту машину. Честно говоря, Мария, ты такая же бесстыдная, как и Кирилл».

    Услышав шум, Кирилл подошёл к ним. «Что здесь происходит?»

    Мария мгновенно раздражённо пожаловалась: «Кирилл, Эвелина хочет забрать машину, а я собиралась ею воспользоваться!»

    Мужчина слегка нахмурился. «Эвелина, передай ключи Маше».

    «Ни за что, – холодно возразила та. – Зачем мне это делать?»

    «Да как ты смеешь!» – с этими словами Мария бросилась вперёд, пытаясь схватить ключи.

    Внезапно в машину влетел старый чемодан, а за ним последовало несколько зажжённых петард.

    Через несколько мгновений полетели искры и повалил густой дым, отчего Мария в панике закричала.

    «Машина твоя, мне она не нужна», – холодно заявила Эвелина, отряхнула руки и решительно отвернулась.

    Всё, что она использовала или носила в доме Гордеевых, должно остаться там. Она не хотела, чтобы что-либо напоминало ей об этом месте.

    Девушка быстро позвонила своей лучшей подруге Кристине Андроповой.

    Когда Эвелина подошла к воротам виллы, её уже ждал роскошный автомобиль.

    У Кристины от изумления резко отвисла челюсть. «Ну, так это же та самая Королева Эвелина! – изображая удивление, подруга потёрла глаза. – Три года, Эвелина. Каждый раз, когда я звонила, ты была слишком занята заботой о неблагодарном муже. Честно говоря, в тот момент я даже не могла сказать, присутствовала ли на твоей свадьбе или на твоих похоронах, – подскочив к Эвелине, Кристина крепко обняла её. – Ты покончила с этим “слепым” дураком? Отлично. Теперь мы заживём по-настоящему, – Кристина театрально щёлкнула пальцами. – Подожди, нет, мне нужно запастись фейерверками! Твоё грандиозное возвращение требует достойного празднования».

    «Ты опоздала», – холодно произнесла Эвелина и небрежно махнула рукой через плечо.

    В этот момент тихую ночь разорвал громкий звук. Старый автомобиль эффектно вспыхнул пламенем.

    Искры рассыпались ослепительным дождём, взрываясь в темноте живыми всполохами.

    «Как тебе такой прощальный подарок?» – поинтересовалась Эвелина с игривой улыбкой, озорно изогнув бровь.

    Кристина разразилась громким смехом. «Вот она! Королева Эвелина наконец-то вернулась! Пора веселиться!»

    Устроившись на пассажирском сиденье, Эвелина устало вздохнула. «Возможно, в другой раз. Мне отчаянно нужен сон».

    Последние три года она без устали ухаживала за Кириллом, помогая ему восстановиться, едва находя время на отдых. И теперь усталость сильно давила на неё.

    На вилле Мария яростно топала ногами.

    «Она меня чуть до инфаркта не довела! Эвелина совсем спятила? Она уничтожила наш автомобиль! Кирилл, тебе нужно что-то с ней сделать».

    «Хватит! – резко оборвал её Кирилл, и в его голосе послышалось раздражение. – Неужели Гордеевы могут позволить себе устраивать такие детские истерики?»

    Мария быстро перешла на умоляющий, обиженный тон: «Ты и вправду отчитываешь меня из-за этой женщины? Я расскажу всё Лене, и она увидит, как сильно ты изменился!»

    «Не говори ерунды, – раздражённо возразил Кирилл, подумав, что Эвелина и в подмётки не годится его сестре, и, смягчившись, попытался успокоить её. – Ты забыла, что Демид Романов скоро прибудет в Антоповск?»

    Семья Романовых, одна из самых влиятельных семей в Илановске, доминировала в политических, деловых и военных кругах, что делало их абсолютно неуязвимыми.

    А Демид Романов, младший наследник, не только обладал невероятной харизмой, но и управлял огромной Романов Групп. Любой его жест вызывал волнения в высшем обществе.

    Но самое главное, он являлся единственным холостяком среди наследников Романовых. Каждая состоятельная девушка в Антоповске и за его пределами мечтала стать госпожой Романовой.

    «Я не забыла, – застенчиво пробормотала Мария, густо покраснев при упоминании этого удивительного мужчины, нежно прижалась к руке брата и с нетерпением добавила: – Он привозит свою племянницу на лечение глаз. Если Лена успешно восстановит зрение госпоже Алине Романовой, то станет незаменимой для семьи Романовых и, несомненно, ценной для нас. Тогда даже бабушке придётся её принять».

    Кирилл задумчиво кивнул.

    Предполагаемый медицинский талант Елены привлёк Романовых в Антоповск, предоставив Гордеевым прекрасную возможность укрепить могущественные союзы.

    «А если ты поможешь Лене во время операции и добьёшься расположения госпожи Романовой, то, возможно, сам Демид обратит на тебя внимание», – ободряюще предположил он.

    «О, спасибо, Кирилл!» – глаза Марии мечтательно заблестели.

    Однако Кирилл внезапно отвлёкся, вспомнив спокойную Эвелину, уверенно и бесстрашно шагающую прочь.

    Он считал её обычной, пассивной и даже скучной. Эта её смелая, яростная версия оказалась совершенно неожиданной.

    Вероятно… ему следовало пересмотреть своё отношение к женщине, которую он игнорировал на протяжении трёх лет.

    Поздно Сожалеть: Гениальная Наследница Глава 3 Жена против разлучницы

    Эвелина провела три дня, отсыпаясь в роскошном президентском номере Кристины.

    Помимо коротких перерывов на лёгкие закуски, она почти не двигалась, и даже Кристина наносила ей омолаживающие маски для лица.

    На четвёртое утро Людмила неожиданно позвонила и попросила Эвелину приехать в поместье Гордеевых.

    Не составило труда догадаться, в чём причина звонка – скорее всего, речь шла о разводе.

    Однако Кристина подозревала что-то более серьёзное, поэтому сказала: «Я сомневаюсь, что всё так просто. По-видимому, Алина Романова, старшая внучка влиятельной семьи Романовых, недавно ослепла после тяжёлой травмы головы. Семья исчерпала все возможности обратиться к известным специалистам и теперь отчаянно ищет неуловимого протеже Леонида Миронова – Соколиного Глаза.

    Демид Романов лично прибудет в Антоповск, чтобы руководить поисками. Людмила – единственная, кто знает твою истинную личность, и я беспокоюсь, что она может попытаться…»

    Эвелина поспешно успокоила её: «Людмила поклялась никогда не раскрывать мою личность. Не волнуйся».

    Кристина не теряла бдительности. «Просто следи за тем, чтобы семья Гордеевых больше не воспользовалась твоими навыками».

    «Я буду осторожна», – уверенно заявила Эвелина.

    Это не убедило Кристину, и она решительно произнесла: «Ты не поедешь к ним в таком виде».

    Сразу после завтрака Кристина собрала свою команду косметологов. «Ваша миссия: пробудить нашу спящую красавицу».

    И они это сделали. После полноценного отдыха Эвелина напоминала увядающий цветок, который наконец-то увидел солнечный свет. Её кожа светилась, черты лица сияли, а усталость, которая долгие годы омрачала её взгляд, полностью исчезла, уступив место ясности и очарованию.

    В изысканном коктейльном платье и с минимальным, но со вкусом подобранным макияжем Эвелина кардинально преобразилась.

    Кристина на несколько мгновений потеряла дар речи, а затем воскликнула: «Кирилл, наверное, совершенно слепой, раз променял богиню на такую, как Лена».

    Точно в назначенное время к отелю подъехал автомобиль семьи Гордеевых с шофёром.

    Андрей, давний дворецкий семьи, лично приехал за ней. Сначала он вообще не узнал Эвелину.

    Мужчина неуверенно смотрел на неё до тех пор, пока она сама не поприветствовала его, и тогда его внезапно осенило. «Госпожа Молотова? – запнулся он. – Вы выглядите просто невероятно».

    Через полчаса машина подъехала к поместью Гордеевых, и Андрей, поспешно выскочив, вежливо открыл ей дверь.

    «Это госпожа Романова?» – Мария поспешила вперёд с подобострастным выражением лица.

    Сегодня в гости приезжал Демид, поэтому Мария с самого утра тщательно приводила себя в порядок, стремясь привлечь его внимание.

    Она подумала, что это приехал Демид, и меньше всего ожидала увидеть в дверях великолепную женщину.

    С такой грацией и уверенностью в себе, кем ещё она может быть, как не Романовой?

    «Маша, возможно, тебе стоит проверить глаза», – вежливо произнесла Эвелина, не скрывая при этом презрения во взгляде.

    У Марии отвисла челюсть. «Это ты?» – недоверчиво прошептала она, с завистью рассматривая Эвелину.

    В этот момент к ним подъехала ещё одна машина. Кирилл грациозно вышел в сопровождении Елены, но когда увидел Эвелину, то резко остановился, совершенно ошеломлённый.

    Прошло всего несколько дней и она так поразительно преобразилась? Эвелина излучала неземную, притягательную красоту.

    Заметив изумление Кирилла, Елена стиснула зубы, хотя и сохранила свою милую улыбку. «Это твоя бывшая жена? – тихо спросила она. – Раз уж мы с ней встретились, можешь поздороваться. Вероятно, для сироты вроде неё было нелегко подняться до твоего уровня».

    Елена говорила тихо, но каждое её ядовитое слово больно ранило сильнее пощёчины, словно она, а не Эвелина, являлась настоящей госпожой Гордеевой.

    Выйдя из задумчивости, Мария гневно выпалила: «Эвелина! Откуда у тебя деньги, чтобы так одеваться? Ты опустошила счета Кирилла ради своего нового лица и дизайнерского платья?»

    Даже Елена сегодня предпочла простоту, избегая ненужного внимания. Мария не могла смириться с тем, что Эвелина с лёгкостью оказалась в центре внимания.

    Немного поколебавшись, она злобно прошипела: «Посмотри на себя, одета как шлюха. Пытаешься вернуть Кирилла? Мечтай!»

    Бросившись вперёд, Мария яростно вцепилась ногтями в платье и волосы Эвелины.

    Поспешно вмешавшись, Андрей решительно произнёс: «Госпожа Гордеева, пожалуйста! Сегодня здесь присутствуют уважаемые гости, и подобное поведение не подобает Гордеевым».

    Проигнорировав просьбы Андрея, Мария яростно закричала: «Я уничтожу твою самодовольную рожу!»

    Сохраняя спокойствие, Эвелина подняла телефон и записала истерику Марии, а затем хладнокровно ответила: «Продолжай в том же духе. Давай покажем Демиду Романову твою утончённую натуру».

    Мария мгновенно застыла, вытаращив глаза. Угрозы застряли у неё в горле, и она убийственным взглядом посмотрела на противницу. «Ты не посмеешь! – сменив тактику, Мария театрально прильнула к Елене, изображая уязвимость. – Лена, пожалуйста, защити меня. Скоро мы станем семьёй, и тебе придётся меня защищать».

    Она намеренно выделила слово «семья», чтобы задеть Эвелину.

    Елена ласково гладила Марию по голове, словно успокаивая ребёнка. «Всё в порядке. Пока я здесь, никто не посмеет тебя тронуть».

    Эвелина язвительно усмехнулась: «Где Людмила и Эльвира Гордеевы? С каких пор посторонние диктуют правила в этом доме?»

    Выражение лица Елены стало жёстким.

    Перед ними стояла не та кроткая Эвелина, которую все ожидали увидеть. Откуда у неё появился такой острый язык?

    Мария мгновенно парировала: «Кто посторонний? Это тебе здесь не место! – повернувшись к Кириллу, она заявила: – Ты слышал, что она сказала Лене? Не позволяй ей так нас унижать!»

    С отточенной грацией Елена тихо вздохнула. «Всё в порядке. У Эвелины не было родителей, которые могли бы научить её хорошим манерам. Она не виновата. Кирилл, пожалуйста, не вини её».

    Эвелина закатила глаза, явно раздражённая намёком Елены.

    Однако Кирилл не обратил внимания на раздражение Эвелины. В его глазах кроткая терпимость Елены лишь подчёркивала её безупречность.

    Подойдя к Елене, мужчина нежно обнял её и холодно повернулся к Эвелине, а затем резко выпалил: «Если думаешь, что создание проблем сыграет тебе на руку, то ошибаешься. Жалкое зрелище. Немедленно извинись перед Леной».

  • Отвергнутая жена: Неожиданное возвращение гениальной королевы, Автор: Limonite Aurora

    Отвергнутая жена: Неожиданное возвращение гениальной королевы, Автор: Limonite Aurora

    В мой двадцать восьмой день рождения я сидела совершенно одна за длинным столом в нашем пустом особняке.

    Мой муж-олигарх Ярослав не прислал даже дежурного сообщения. Вместо этого он случайно набрал мой номер, и я услышала, как он нежно празднует триумф с Алиной — своей «единственной настоящей любовью».

    Даже наша шестилетняя дочь пробежала мимо моего нетронутого торта, чтобы с восторгом упаковать подарок для Алины.

    «Мама, я не люблю сливочные торты».

    Бросив это, она убежала. На следующий день я увидела их втроем. Ярослав обнимал Алину за талию, а дочь счастливо держала ее за руку. Они выглядели как идеальная семья.

    Мое место было давно занято. Но когда я подписала соглашение о разводе и подала заявление об увольнении, помощник мужа просто проигнорировал это, а прислуга случайно выбросила документы в мусор.

    Все они были уверены, что я просто устраиваю сцены. Сестра мужа, его подчиненные и сам Ярослав считали меня красивой, но бесполезной содержанкой, которая никогда не осмелится покинуть золотую клетку.

    Они забыли, что до брака я была восходящей звездой искусственного интеллекта. Пять лет я жертвовала карьерой ради семьи, чтобы в итоге стать для них никем.

    Я не проронила ни слезы. Я ликвидировала все совместные активы, вывела свое многомиллионное наследство на тайный счет и приняла предложение стать техническим директором в конкурирующей компании.

    Когда Ярослав с дочерью вернутся из отпуска, ожидая увидеть мою привычную покорность, их встретит лишь холодная пустота.

    Отвергнутая жена: Неожиданное возвращение гениальной королевы Глава 1 День рождения в холоде, обрывая нити любви

    Часы пробили полночь. Рената Ковалёва сидела на широком подоконнике в загородном особняке, её взгляд был устремлён на холодные капли дождя, стекавшие по стеклу.
    Сегодня был её день рождения. Телефон, лежавший рядом, оставался безмолвным. Не было ни входящих вызовов, ни сообщений, ни даже поздравлений с днём рождения.
    Она медленно поднялась, её суставы затекли от долгого сидения. Она подошла к комоду и поправила подарок, который привезла издалека для своей дочери, Ксении. Это была искусно сшитая вручную тканевая кукла.
    Внезапно дверь распахнулась. В комнату вбежала Ксения, сжимая в руках коробку с разноцветными ракушками. Вид у неё был взволнованный и торопливый.
    «Ксюша», – мягко позвала Рената, раскрывая руки для объятий.
    Но девочка увернулась, её движения были резкими. Коробка наклонилась, и ракушки с тихим стуком рассыпались по мраморному полу. Ксения тут же опустилась на корточки, начав их перебирать.
    Рената присела рядом, помогая дочери. Её пальцы коснулись гладкой, перламутровой поверхности. Она протянула Ксении куклу.
    «Смотри, что я тебе привезла».
    Ксения бросила на куклу брезгливый взгляд и отшвырнула её в сторону.
    «Фу, старьё! Мне такое не надо!» – фыркнула она.
    Сердце Ренаты пропустило удар. Она заставила себя говорить спокойно:
    «Чем ты так занята?»
    Ксения с гордостью продемонстрировала самую крупную ракушку.
    «Я делаю ожерелье для тёти Алины. Оно будет гораздо красивее всего, что ты мне когда‑либо дарила!» – выпалила девочка с вызовом.
    Рената почувствовала, как кончики её пальцев леденеют. Алина Щербакова – женщина, которая уже несколько лет была любовницей её мужа. Рената знала об этом, но молчала, глотая обиду, надеясь, что семья устоит. Однако теперь она видела, как дочь с такой же готовностью тянется к этой чужой женщине, и ледяная пустота разливалась внутри.
    «Ксюша, – её голос был едва слышен, – ты помнишь, какой сегодня день?»
    Девочка посмотрела на неё с пустым выражением лица.
    «Нет. А что?»
    Она нетерпеливо махнула рукой.
    «Не мешай мне, мама. Я должна выложить ракушки в правильном порядке».
    Рената смотрела, как её дочь с невероятной сосредоточенностью готовит подарок для другой женщины. Для женщины, которая разрушала их семью. Её ладони стали холодными, как лёд.
    «Сегодня мой день рождения, – тихо сказала она. – Ты не хочешь подарить мне что-нибудь?»
    Ксения раздражённо вскинула голову.
    «Опять ты за своё! Зачем ты меня заставляешь? Дарить или не дарить – это моё право».
    Слова дочери были острыми, как осколки стекла.
    «Тётя Алина никогда не выпрашивает подарков на день рождения, – безжалостно продолжала Ксения. – Она намного воспитаннее тебя».
    Рената медленно поднялась. Она и не знала, что дочь так сильно её ненавидит, – ведь это её родная кровь, которая должна была быть ближе всех, но теперь стала такой чужой.
    Внизу послышался шум подъезжающей машины. Это вернулся Ярослав.
    Рената глубоко вздохнула, заставляя себя унять дрожь. Она натянула на лицо подобие улыбки и спустилась вниз, чтобы встретить мужа.
    Ярослав Дружинин вошёл в дом, неся с собой запах дождя и холода. Его лицо было уставшим и непроницаемым.
    Рената шагнула к нему, чтобы помочь снять пальто, но он холодно отстранился и повесил его сам.
    Он даже не удостоил её взглядом, направляясь прямо в свой кабинет.
    Рената пошла за ним.
    «Ярослав, – тихо позвала она, – может, мы сегодня поужинаем вместе? Я приготовила…»
    «Сегодня международная видеоконференция, – ледяным тоном оборвал он её, не оборачиваясь. – Нет времени».
    Рената сжала кулаки, её ногти впились в ладони.
    «Но сегодня… сегодня наша годовщина свадьбы. И мой день рождения».
    Ярослав на мгновение замер. Затем он нетерпеливо обернулся, его взгляд был полон раздражения.
    «Сколько тебе лет? Всё ещё празднуешь дни рождения? Если что-то хочешь, пойди и купи сама».
    Он вошёл в кабинет и захлопнул за собой дверь. Щелчок замка прозвучал как приговор.
    Рената осталась стоять перед закрытой дверью, одна в холодном, пустом холле. Горькая усмешка тронула её губы, но слёз не было. Слёзы высохли много лет назад.
    Внезапно зазвонил её телефон. На экране высветилось имя – рабочий номер Ярослава. Вероятно, он забыл свой аппарат на столе и кто-то перезванивал. Она машинально ответила.
    «Ярослав, твой кофе готов, – раздался в трубке нежный, мурлыкающий голос Алины Щербаковой. – Я добавила полторы ложки сахара, как ты любишь».
    Рука Ренаты сильно дрогнула. Телефон чуть не выпал из её пальцев.
    На том конце провода, услышав какой-то шум, мгновенно повесили трубку. В ушах остались только резкие, пронзительные гудки.
    Тишина.
    Она опустила телефон, чувствуя, как последние остатки тепла покидают её тело.

    Отвергнутая жена: Неожиданное возвращение гениальной королевы Глава 2 Трое за столом, сердце умирает окончательно

    Рената плохо спала всю ночь, и, проснувшись утром, чувствовала себя слегка оцепеневшей. Однако в её душе ещё теплилась слабая надежда. Она решила приготовить для Ксении её любимые пельмени ручной лепки.
    Когда она вошла на кухню, горничная Анна Петровна, женщина средних лет с добрыми, но уставшими глазами, сочувственно посмотрела на неё. Она хотела что-то сказать, но промолчала, лишь тяжело вздохнула.
    Рената поставила тарелку с дымящимися пельменями на поднос и направилась к комнате дочери.
    Подойдя к двери, она услышала голоса.
    «Сегодня мы едем в ресторан на большой ужин», – жаловалась Ксения горничной. – «Только не говорите маме! Она испортит нам всё удовольствие, с ней будет невкусно!»
    «Ксения, так нельзя», – мягко попыталась уговорить её горничная. – «Она же твоя родная мать».
    «А я хочу, чтобы моей мамой была тётя Алина!» – громко возразила девочка. – «С ней всегда вкусно и весело! А мама только и делает, что заставляет меня есть и делать уроки!»
    Рената едва удерживала поднос с пельменями в руках. Она долго стояла у двери в молчании, погружённая в противоречивые мысли. Всё, что она делала, было ради блага дочери, и она надеялась, что когда-нибудь Ксения поймёт это, даже если сейчас она ей ненавистна.
    Она молча отступила от двери. Вернувшись на кухню, она без единого слова вылила остывший завтрак в мусорное ведро.
    В кармане завибрировал телефон. Сообщение от Ярослава.
    «Сегодняшний семейный обед отменяется. Срочное совещание в компании».
    Рената посмотрела на холодные буквы на экране. В её душе больше не было ни волнения, ни обиды. Только ледяное спокойствие.
    «Хорошо», – коротко напечатала она в ответ.
    Через полчаса к дому подъехал чёрный «Майбах». Водитель Виктор вышел и позвал Ксению. Девочка с маленьким рюкзаком выбежала, даже не попрощавшись. Рената видела из окна кухни, как машина уехала.
    В душе у неё уже была догадка, куда повезли дочь, но она всё равно не могла не проверить. Она села в свою машину и тихонько поехала следом.
    Она ехала за «Майбахом» через центр, держась на расстоянии. Машина свернула к набережной и остановилась у дорогого итальянского ресторана.
    У самого панорамного окна, на лучшем месте, сидели три знакомые фигуры. У входа стоял тот же «Майбах».
    Ярослав нежно вытирал влажной салфеткой уголки губ Ксении, испачканные соусом. Его движения были полны заботы, нежности и внимания, которых Рената никогда не видела.
    Ксения сияла от счастья. Она вплела только что сорванный белый цветок в волосы Алины.
    Алина с притворной застенчивостью обняла девочку, и они, прижавшись щеками, что-то зашептали друг другу на ухо.
    Ярослав смотрел на эту сцену с выражением такой нежности и обожания, какое Рената за все семь лет брака не видела ни разу. Это был взгляд, предназначенный не ей.
    Проходивший мимо официант с улыбкой произнёс:
    «Какая у вас красивая жена и дочка. Вы очень счастливая семья».
    Ярослав не стал его поправлять. Он лишь слегка улыбнулся, молча принимая комплимент.
    Рената стояла за стеклом, словно смотрела трогательный фильм о чужой жизни.
    И действительно, как она и догадывалась, она увидела ресторан и увидела мужа с его любовницей. Всё, как она и предполагала.
    Она вспомнила, как семь лет назад отказалась от своей научной карьеры, от своего будущего, от самой себя ради этого мужчины. Как она служила его семье, словно прислуга, пытаясь заслужить хотя бы каплю тепла. Но всё это оказалось менее ценным, чем один день, проведённый Алиной с её дочерью.
    В этот момент она отчётливо поняла: некоторые сердца невозможно согреть. Даже сердце собственного ребёнка.
    Алина случайно повернула голову и встретилась взглядом с холодными, тёмными глазами Ренаты.
    В её взгляде на мгновение промелькнула растерянность, которая тут же сменилась дерзким вызовом. Она ещё теснее прижалась к Ярославу.
    Ярослав проследил за её взглядом. Увидев Ренату, он нахмурился, и в его глазах промелькнуло отвращение.
    Он сделал движение, собираясь встать, словно хотел что-то объяснить. Но Рената опередила его. Она отвела взгляд, её лицо было абсолютно бесстрастным.
    Она не проронила ни слезинки. У неё не было даже желания устраивать скандал или что-то выяснять.
    Зачем? Всё было и так ясно.
    Рената с горькой усмешкой поправила воротник своего плаща и, не оглядываясь, развернулась и растворилась в шумной толпе.
    В этот момент она окончательно похоронила все надежды на этот брак и на любовь своей дочери. Она решила уйти.

    Отвергнутая жена: Неожиданное возвращение гениальной королевы Глава 3 Уход и подпись, спрятанный конверт

    Вернувшись в пустой особняк, Рената с бесстрастным лицом поднялась в спальню и заперла дверь на ключ.
    Она открыла ноутбук и вошла в свой личный почтовый ящик, которым не пользовалась много лет.
    Она нашла стандартный шаблон соглашения о расторжении брака и начала методично его заполнять.
    В разделе об имуществе она указала, что отказывается от всего. Она лишь перевела на свой личный счёт тридцать миллионов рублей из доверительного фонда, который принадлежал ей ещё до брака – наследство от бабушки.
    Она не взяла ни копейки, принадлежавшей семье Дружининых.
    Подойдя к пункту об опеке над Ксенией, Рената закрыла глаза. Пальцы на мгновение замерли над клавиатурой. Затем она, с дрожащими пальцами, написала в графе опеки: «Прошу определить место жительства дочери с отцом». Сердце сжалось в холодный комок, но она не позволила себе сомневаться.
    Она распечатала два экземпляра соглашения и аккуратно поставила свою подпись: «Рената Карловна Ковалёва». Росчерк был твёрдым и уверенным.
    Она вложила бумаги в плотный крафтовый конверт и запечатала его сургучом. Щелчок печати прозвучал в тишине комнаты как точка, поставленная в её прошлой жизни.
    Затем она начала собирать вещи. Всего два небольших чемодана, в которых лежали только её старые платья, книги и ноутбук.
    Все дорогие украшения и дизайнерские наряды, подаренные Ярославом за эти годы, она сложила обратно в сейф и заперла его. Она не хотела ничего, что напоминало бы ей об этом человеке.
    Спустившись вниз с чемоданами, она увидела изумлённое лицо Анны Петровны.
    Рената протянула экономке конверт.
    «Анна Петровна, – её голос был ровным и спокойным, – пожалуйста, передайте это лично Ярославу Дмитриевичу сегодня вечером. Это очень важно».
    «Госпожа, куда вы? – с тревогой спросила женщина.
    «Возвращаюсь на родину. У меня там дела», – уклончиво ответила Рената.
    Она отказалась от услуг водителя и вызвала такси через приложение.
    Вечером Ярослав вернулся в особняк с уставшей, но довольной Ксенией. В холле царила мёртвая тишина.
    «Мама! Я есть хочу! – с порога закричала Ксения. – Хочу твои блинчики!»
    Из гостиной вышла Анна Петровна. Её лицо было растерянным и обеспокоенным.
    «Господин, – сказала она, обращаясь к Ярославу, – госпожа улетела дневным рейсом на родину».
    Ксения надула губы.
    «Ну и пусть. Без неё даже лучше, никто не будет надоедать. Надеюсь, она никогда не вернётся».
    В глазах Ярослава промелькнуло раздражение. Он холодно усмехнулся.
    «Пусть едет. Очередной спектакль, чтобы проверить мои нервы. Ничего нового».
    Анна Петровна протянула ему конверт, оставленный Ренатой.
    Ярослав небрежно взял его, даже не взглянув, и бросил на тумбочку в спальне.
    В этот момент зазвонил его телефон. Это была Алина. Её голос звучал слабо и жалобно. Она сказала, что у неё, кажется, упал сахар и ей нехорошо.
    Ярослав, даже не сняв пиджак, схватил ключи от машины и бросился к ней. В ту ночь он не вернулся.
    На следующее утро Анна Петровна вошла в хозяйскую спальню для уборки. Она увидела конверт, валявшийся на полу у тумбочки.
    Она решила, что Ярослав Дмитриевич уже прочитал его вчера вечером и просто небрежно уронил.
    Чтобы в спальне был порядок, она подняла конверт и убрала его в верхний ящик рабочего стола Ярослава.
    Ярослав так и не узнал, что внутри. Он упустил единственный шанс понять, что решение Ренаты было окончательным.
    В это же время самолёт Ренаты приземлился в Москве.
    Она вышла из аэропорта и вдохнула прохладный, свежий воздух. Это был воздух свободы. Воздух её собственного мира.
    Она приехала в их семейную квартиру – огромный пентхаус в центре города. Холодный, минималистичный дизайн, в котором не было ни капли жизни. Она не почувствовала ни ностальгии, ни сожаления.
    Она достала коробки и начала методично, чисто и безжалостно убирать все следы своего семилетнего пребывания здесь.

  • Неприкасаемая: Чудо-доктор Альфы, Автор: Алла Островская

    Неприкасаемая: Чудо-доктор Альфы, Автор: Алла Островская

    Мой родной отец, Альфа стаи, хладнокровно разорвал мою помолвку.

    Он отдал моего жениха, которого я любила всем сердцем, моей сводной сестре Авроре. А меня, как бракованный товар, выдал замуж за Александра — искалеченного, умирающего Альфу из клана Волковых.

    Аврора пришла ко мне в комнату в роскошном белом платье, чтобы вдоволь насладиться своим триумфом.

    «Будучи безволкой, ты никогда и не была достойна Адриана. А твой новый муж и месяца не протянет. Ты проведешь всю жизнь, охраняя гниющий труп», — с насмешкой прошептала она.

    Меня безжалостно вышвырнули в ледяное, забытое всеми поместье, где наглая прислуга открыто издевалась над моим парализованным мужем, ожидая его неминуемой смерти от отравления серебром.

    В прошлой жизни предательство семьи и потеря любимого окончательно сломили меня, и я умерла в отчаянии. Я до самого конца не могла понять, за что самые близкие люди так безжалостно растоптали мою жизнь.

    Но они не знали, что после комы в это тело вернулась душа, прожившая целую жизнь в другом мире и ставшая там легендарным хирургом.

    Я спокойно приняла этот брак, но перед отъездом незаметно пропитала свадебную шаль сестры ядом, который превратит её долгожданную брачную ночь в кошмар.

    А затем я вошла в ледяную спальню своего нового мужа, раскалила нож и хладнокровно начала срезать мертвую плоть с его гноящихся ран.

    И когда я на секунду отвернулась, «умирающий» Альфа, который должен был находиться в глубокой коме, вдруг открыл свои пронзительные ледяные глаза и пристально посмотрел на меня.

    Неприкасаемая: Чудо-доктор Альфы Глава 1

    От лица Аврелии:

    В гостиной повисла густая тишина, но она меня не тяготила.

    Я удобно устроилась на краешке шёлкового кресла, свободно положив руки на колени, и спокойно наблюдала за разыгрывающимся вокруг меня театром.

    Мой отец, Альфа Медведев, стоял у каминной полки спиной ко мне и смотрел в незажжённый камин.

    Его напряжённая поза была демонстрацией суровой властности, но мой намётанный глаз видел, что чрезмерное напряжение в мышцах плеч выдавало чистое, тревожное волнение.

    Он нервничал. И это меня забавляло.

    Тяжёлые шаги по мраморному полу возвестили о прибытии посланника Короля. В комнату вошёл волк сурового вида с седеющими висками. Его лицо было маской абсолютной беспристрастности.

    Воздух в комнате потрескивал от напряжения, но мой пульс оставался ровным – шестьдесят ударов в минуту в состоянии покоя.

    Наконец отец обернулся, на его лице застыла тщательно выстроенная маска радости. «Добро пожаловать», – произнёс он, его голос был низким рокотом.

    Он демонстративно не смотрел на меня. Классическая тактика уклонения. Он думал, что разбивает мне сердце, но на самом деле лишь подтверждал собственную трусость.

    Посланник коротко кивнул, не тратя времени на любезности. Он извлёк из внутреннего кармана пергаментный свиток, перевязанный королевской синей лентой, и с тихим треском развернул его.

    «По указу Короля-Альфы, – начал посланник, и его монотонный голос эхом разнёсся по огромной комнате, – касательно союза между семьями Волковых и Медведевых. Отмечено, что Альфа Волков – образцовый наследник, всеми любимый и сильный. И отмечено, что его брат, Альфа Волков, был тяжело ранен серебром в Западной войне, его связь с волком разорвана, и он превратился в сломленную оболочку».

    Официальные описания двух братьев повисли в воздухе. Один – золотой мальчик, другой – искалеченный изгой.

    «Советом подтверждено, что Аврелия Медведева – безво́лкая, – продолжил посланник, бросив на меня короткий сочувственный взгляд. – Безво́лкая пара – неподходящая партия для будущего лидера. Посему помолвка между Альфой Волковым и Аврелией Медведевой отныне объявляется недействительной».

    У каминной полки лицо моего отца оставалось безмятежным, а взгляд – отсутствующим. Он выглядел точь-в-точь как торговец, наблюдающий за заключением сделки. Для него я была всего лишь бракованным товаром, который сбывают с огромной скидкой, чтобы сохранить союз.

    «Вместо неё, – зачитал посланник, – её сестра, Аврора Медведева, истинный волк с хорошей репутацией, будет соединена с Альфой Волковым. А в честь первоначального союза Аврелия Медведева будет отдана искалеченному Альфе, Александру Волкову».

    «Свадьбы состоятся одновременно через три дня», – заключил посланник, аккуратно сворачивая свиток и передавая его моему отцу. Коротко поклонившись, он развернулся и вышел.

    Тишина вернулась.

    Наконец отец посмотрел на меня, вероятно, готовясь к истерикам, слезам или мольбам, которые устроила бы «прежняя» Аврелия.

    Вместо этого я плавно встала и оправила юбку платья.

    «Три дня, – сказала я, и мой голос, совершенно лишённый дрожи, прорезал тишину комнаты. – Я буду готова».

    Прежде чем отец успел оправиться от явного потрясения, я развернулась на каблуках и пошла наверх, в свою спальню.

    Я сидела у своего туалетного столика, прислушиваясь к ночной тишине за окном, когда дверь моей комнаты открылась без стука.

    О её появлении возвестил приторный аромат духов с запахом душистого горошка, густо сдобренный незаслуженным триумфом.

    Моя сводная сестра, Аврора.

    «О, моя бедная сестричка», – проворковала она, и её голос сочился фальшивым сочувствием, пока она вплывала в комнату в дорогом белом кружевном платье.

    Она подошла и встала у меня за спиной, её пальцы потянулись, чтобы погладить мои волосы, словно она утешала домашнего питомца. «Я была так убита горем, когда услышала эту новость».

    Я сидела совершенно неподвижно, наблюдая за её отражением в зеркале. Когда я никак не отреагировала, её маска быстро треснула. Уголок её рта дёрнулся в самодовольной ухмылке.

    Она усмехнулась: «Но знаешь, будучи безво́лкой, ты никогда и не была достойна Адриана. Это всё на благо семьи».

    Она наклонилась ближе, её тёплое дыхание коснулось моего уха, и она перешла на ядовитый шёпот: «Кроме того, Адриан всегда был моим. Ты просто развлекала его».

    Я сузила глаза, и мой взгляд стал совершенно пустым, холодным, как осколки льда.

    Аврора вздрогнула, и торжествующая улыбка застыла на её лице. Она невольно отступила на шаг, выбитая из колеи отсутствием слёз.

    Медленно, осознанно я поднялась со стула. Я взяла с туалетного столика тяжёлый гребень с серебряной спинкой и начала ритмично, элегантно проводить им по волосам.

    «Выйти замуж за сломленного человека лучше, чем за ничтожество», – тихо сказала я, мой голос был ровным и спокойным.

    Краска мгновенно схлынула с лица Авроры. «Ты…»

    «Наша свадьба через три дня, не так ли? – я повернулась к ней, позволяя всей тяжести моего отстранённого, ледяного взгляда обрушиться на неё. – Иди, планируй свою церемонию, Аврора. Я полностью принимаю это соглашение».

    Аврора стояла в полном недоумении. Я знала, что она пришла, готовая к слезам, истерикам и моему отчаянию.

    Но я отказалась доставить ей такое удовольствие.

    Неприкасаемая: Чудо-доктор Альфы Глава 2

    От лица Аврелии:
    Шок Авроры быстро сменился гневом. Моё самообладание оскорбляло её сильнее, чем любая перепалка. Её лицо побагровело от ярости.
    «Не делай вид, будто у тебя есть выбор, – выплюнула она резким, колким голосом. – Грязная безво́лкая. Сама возможность выйти замуж за члена семьи Волковых – это дар Лунной Богини, которого ты не заслуживаешь!»
    Я проигнорировала её, повернулась и пошла к своему шкафу. Я начала перебирать платья, мои движения были неторопливыми, словно я просто выбирала наряд для обычного званого ужина.
    Она не смогла вынести такого полного пренебрежения. Она бросилась ко мне и схватила меня за руку. Её ногти впились в мою кожу.
    «Я с тобой разговариваю! Ты что, глухая? – её лицо оказалось в паре сантиметров от моего, искажённое злорадной усмешкой. – Знаешь, почему отец так легко согласился? Семья Волковых заплатила целое состояние! Твоё “похоронное приданое” обеспечило процветание нашей семьи на ближайшие десять лет!»
    Эти слова должны были сокрушить меня, напомнить о моей никчёмности.
    Она наклонилась ещё ближе, её голос перешёл на заговорщицкий шёпот: «И отец уже знает, что Александр умирает. Серебряный яд уже в его костях. Целители говорят, он и месяца не протянет. Ты скоро станешь вдовой. Ты проведёшь всю жизнь, охраняя труп и пустой титул».
    Я по-прежнему не доставляла ей удовольствия увидеть мой срыв – я просто её полностью игнорировала.
    Раздосадованная моим полным молчанием, лицо Авроры исказилось от чистой злобы. Она грубо толкнула меня и закричала мне в лицо: «Почему ты не плачешь? Думаешь, ты всё ещё драгоценная доченька? Твоя покойная мать была всего лишь низкородной сукой, и ты ничем не лучше неё!»
    Это была последняя капля. Мои движения замерли. Медленно, сантиметр за сантиметром, я повернула голову. Лёд в моих глазах исчез. На его месте вспыхнул огонь, такой жаркий и яростный, что, казалось, мог расплавить сталь.
    Аврора увидела внезапную жажду убийства в моём взгляде и отдёрнула руку, словно обожглась.
    Прежде чем она успела осознать, что происходит, я ринулась вперёд, превратившись в размытое пятно. Моя рука метнулась вперёд и железной хваткой вцепилась ей в горло. Приливом непреодолимой силы я швырнула её назад, на массивный дубовый шкаф. От удара тяжёлое дерево содрогнулось.
    Голова Авроры с треском ударилась о поверхность, и с её губ сорвался удушливый вздох, когда воздух выбило из её лёгких. Её расширенные от ужаса глаза уставились на меня. Лицо, которое она знала двадцать лет, теперь стало маской незнакомки, предвестницы из ада. Это была не та слабая, уступчивая сестра, над которой она так любила издеваться.
    Мои пальцы побелели от силы хватки, но выражение моего лица было пугающе спокойным. Контраст был чудовищным.
    «Извинись, – сказала я. Мой голос был грубым, холодным скрежетом, словно лезвие, скребущее по камню. – Извинись перед моей матерью».
    Лицо Авроры приобретало ужасающий багровый оттенок. Она отчаянно царапала моё запястье, из её горла доносились влажные, удушливые звуки. Она не могла вымолвить ни слова.
    «Ещё раз оскорбишь мою мать, – прошептала я, усиливая хватку, чтобы заглушить её жалкие хрипы. – И я заставлю тебя извиниться перед ней лично».
    Её сопротивление ослабло. Слёзы чистого ужаса текли по её лицу. Свободной рукой она начала слабо барабанить по шкафу в отчаянной, безмолвной мольбе о помощи.
    Вид её жалкого, сопливого состояния остудил адское пламя в моей груди. Убить её здесь было бы слишком быстро. Слишком милосердно.
    Я отпустила её.
    Аврора сползла по шкафу, как выброшенная кукла, и рухнула на пол бесформенной грудой. Она схватилась за горло, кашляя и давясь, отчаянно хватая ртом воздух. Сопли и слёзы размазали её идеальный макияж.
    Она посмотрела на меня снизу вверх, её глаза были полны нового вида страха. Первобытного страха.
    Я стояла над ней с выражением полного отвращения на лице. «Проваливай», – сказала я.
    Она кое-как вскочила на ноги, представляя собой неуклюжее, жалкое зрелище. Она не осмелилась снова на меня посмотреть. Она, спотыкаясь, подбежала к двери и принялась неуклюже возиться с ручкой.
    Прежде чем распахнуть её, она рискнула бросить через плечо последний, полный ненависти взгляд. «Ты об этом пожалеешь!» – выдавила она, но угроза прозвучала совершенно пусто.
    Холодная улыбка тронула мои губы. От неё по спине Авроры пробежала заметная дрожь. Она рванула дверь на себя и сбежала, её шаги гулко разнеслись по коридору.
    Дверь захлопнулась, и я снова осталась в тишине.
    Я прислонилась к стене, моё тело слегка дрожало от прилива адреналина. Я подняла руку, глядя на свои пальцы. Теперь они не дрожали.
    Сегодня они впервые вкусили насилие. И это было только начало.

    Неприкасаемая: Чудо-доктор Альфы Глава 3

    От лица Аврелии:
    Тишина, наступившая после бегства Авроры, была абсолютной. Лицо моё ничего не выражало, а сердце холодно и ровно отбивало такт.
    Я разжала ладонь и повернула её вверх. Ощущение её горла под моими пальцами не проходило – чуждое чувство власти, от которого по венам пробежал холодный трепет.
    Я знала Аврору. Она уже бежала к нашему отцу, чтобы разыграть из себя жертву.
    Последствия будут. Но мне уже было всё равно. Если они хотят столкнуть меня в пропасть, я выкарабкаюсь из самого ада и утащу их всех за собой.
    Мой взгляд упал на маленькую запертую деревянную шкатулку на ночном столике. Это было единственное, что осталось у меня от матери, Агнессы Красновой.
    После моего рождения мать погибла в так называемом «несчастном случае на охоте». Удобное падение со скалы. Я же верила, что это было убийство.
    Я подошла к шкатулке размеренным шагом. С цепочки на шее я сняла маленький потускневший ключик. Замок щёлкнул, и этот звук, казалось, эхом разнёсся по тихой комнате.
    Внутри не было ни драгоценностей, ни золота. Лишь несколько выцветших дневников в кожаных переплётах и один-единственный толстый конверт из веленевой бумаги.
    Я подняла конверт и развернула помягчевшую от времени бумагу. Это было письмо, написанное изящным, плавным почерком моей матери, в котором слова любви были подчёркнуты глубокой, мучительной скорбью.
    Она рассказывала, как использовала ресурсы своей семьи и собственные силы, чтобы помочь моему отцу бросить вызов и завоевать титул альфы.
    Но как только он получил власть, он стал стыдиться её и завёл роман с Аглаей Медведевой, матерью Авроры.
    «Моя дорогая Аврелия, – гласили последние строки, – если ты читаешь это, меня уже нет. Не доверяй Адаму. Не доверяй никому из них. Выживи. Любой ценой ты должна выжить».
    Одна-единственная горячая слеза наконец сорвалась и упала на страницу, размазывая чернила. Моё сердце разрывалось от жалости к матери. Но я не повторю её судьбу. Я не была беспомощной.
    У меня были знания из другого мира, воспоминания о жизни, где я обладала силой не по праву крови, а благодаря мастерству. Это и было моё оружие.
    Да. Две жизни.
    Семь дней назад я чуть не лишилась жизни из-за предательства. Тогда я была глубоко и невинно влюблена в своего жениха, Альфу Волкова. Но Адам, поддавшись злобным интригам Аглаи Медведевой, заставил меня отдать моего возлюбленного и всё моё будущее сестре, Авроре.
    Для меня Адриан был целым миром. Не в силах вынести удушающее горе, унижение и вид того, как сестра отнимает у меня любимого мужчину, я решила покончить с собой.
    Возможно, Лунная сжалилась надо мной, потому что я не умерла. За те семь дней, что я провела в коме, моя душа переместилась в высокоразвитый межзвёздный мир под названием Аурия.
    Хотя я родилась там сиротой и жила в переполненном приюте, то технологически превосходящее общество позволило мне окончить лучшую Императорскую медицинскую академию благодаря собственным неустанным усилиям и помощи доброго благодетеля.
    Отплатив своему благодетелю, я полностью посвятила себя спасению жизней, осваивая сложные биологические структуры различных гуманоидных и звероподобных рас.
    Мои хирургические навыки достигли уровня, вызывавшего абсолютное благоговение.
    В последние годы моей долгой и насыщенной жизни там вылеченные мной пациенты даровали мне легендарный титул – «Чудо-целительница».
    Когда я в последний раз закрыла глаза на Аурии, я думала, что мой путь окончен. Однако я очнулась снова в мире оборотней, вернувшись в это тело ровно семь дней спустя.
    Моя прошлая влюблённость в Адриана теперь ничего для меня не значила. Но затаённая обида и трагическая судьба матери никуда не делись.
    Раз уж судьба дала мне второй шанс, я использую его, чтобы взыскать все до единого долги.
    Всё, что они задолжали мне, всё, что они задолжали моей матери, – я верну по частям. Тех, кто обманывал и унижал меня, ждёт возмездие.
    Я была целительницей и обладала милосердным сердцем. Но этого милосердия моим врагам было не видать.
    Я осторожно сложила письмо, убрала его обратно к дневникам и заперла шкатулку. Эта шкатулка отправится со мной. Она была моим якорем и моей миссией.
    Я вытерла глаза. Когда я подняла взгляд, моё отражение в туалетном зеркальце показалось мне незнакомым.
    Бледное лицо, зелёные глаза, грива каштановых волос. Но за этими глазами теперь скрывалась душа хирурга, тысячу раз смотревшего в лицо смерти, и она полностью владела ситуацией.
    В моём сознании промелькнули лица – галерея улыбающихся предателей. Последнее лицо я никогда не видела, лишь представляла: бледное, измождённое лицо Александра Волкова. Умирающего альфы.
    Решение выйти замуж за искалеченного альфу было актом выживания, навязанным мне советом. Но это был также и первый продуманный шаг моего грандиозного плана.
    Он был тем адом, в который они меня отправляли, но его искалеченное тело было пациентом, которого мог восстановить только хирург-мастер.
    Могущественный, обязанный мне альфа, возвращённый моей рукой с грани смерти, станет острейшим клинком, который я только могла бы направить против семьи Медведевых.
    Холодная улыбка тронула мои губы. Я не доверяла никому, а уж тем более могущественным мужчинам. Это была сделка. Мои навыки в обмен на его власть. Плацдарм для моей мести.
    В дверь тихо и уважительно постучали. Робкий голос служанки произнёс: «Мисс, альфа просит вас зайти к нему в кабинет».
    Слёзы Авроры сотворили своё волшебство. Адам был готов вынести свой вердикт.
    Хотя я заставляла себя оставаться бесстрастной, когда я встала, тугой узел нервов скрутился у меня в животе. Но я быстро одёрнула платье, и моё лицо изменилось, снова превратившись в маску кроткой, хрупкой девушки. Мстительница исчезла, спрятавшись глубоко внутри.
    «Конечно, – отозвалась я мягким, податливым голосом. – Я сейчас подойду».

  • Девять отказов от брака: я вышла замуж за соперника моего бывшего, Автор: Nester Seaburg

    Девять отказов от брака: я вышла замуж за соперника моего бывшего, Автор: Nester Seaburg

    Пятнадцать минут до закрытия ЗАГСа. Я сидела в пустом коридоре, сжимая в холодных пальцах телефон, и ждала мужчину, которому отдала годы своей жизни.

    Но вместо Дмитрия позвонил его равнодушный помощник и сообщил, что росписи не будет.

    У Карины, моей сводной сестры, случилась «неотложная ситуация» — она подвернула лодыжку, и мой жених бросил всё, чтобы срочно умчаться к ней.

    Это было его девятое невыполненное обещание. Из-за Карины он пропускал наши годовщины, мои дни рождения, а теперь — собственную свадьбу.

    Самым страшным оказалось то, что моя родная мать, узнав о сорванной свадьбе, даже не подумала меня утешить.

    Она холодно обвинила меня в эгоизме и приказала немедленно звонить Дмитрию, чтобы извиниться за мою «истерику», пока бедная Карина страдает с больной ногой.

    Я стояла посреди квартиры, слушая, как семья в очередной раз вытирает об меня ноги ради чужого комфорта, и вдруг поняла, что больше не чувствую боли.

    Огромный камень, годами давивший мне на грудь, просто исчез. Зачем я ждала любви там, где меня всегда считали лишь удобным, безотказным фоном?

    Я молча собрала чемодан, написала Дмитрию, что между нами всё кончено, и навсегда заблокировала его номер.

    А затем, выйдя на холодный ноябрьский ветер, нашла в контактах номер его злейшего врага и главного конкурента.

    «Господин Волков, ваше предложение жениться на мне ещё в силе?»

    Через десять минут к тротуару плавно подъехал чёрный «Майбах», чтобы забрать меня в новую жизнь.

    Девять отказов от брака: я вышла замуж за соперника моего бывшего Глава 1

    Анастасия Фёдорова взглянула на часы от ювелирного дома «Валентин и Дюбуа» на своём запястье.

    Изящные золотые стрелки показывали без четверти пять вечера.

    Пятнадцать минут до закрытия Центрального дворца бракосочетания Ново-Михайловска.

    Её большой палец бессознательно ковырял и без того растрескавшуюся кожу у ногтя указательного пальца. Нервная привычка, от которой, как она думала, избавилась много лет назад.

    Служащая Морозова, женщина с добрым лицом и волосами с проседью, в девятый раз выглянула из кабинета. Её глаза были полны жалости, от которой у Анастасии скрутило живот.

    «Может, это пробки, дорогая», – предложила госпожа Морозова, ставя стакан с остывшей водой на столик рядом со стулом Анастасии.

    Анастасия выдавила из себя улыбку, которая ощущалась как трещина на лице: «Да, в Ново-Михайловске всегда ужасные пробки».

    Её взгляд скользнул к плакату на стене. Сияющая пара, а под ней надпись весёлым шрифтом: «Счастливые браки начинаются здесь». От этой иронии на грудь словно лёг камень, мешая дышать.

    В её сумочке что-то завибрировало.

    Сердце подскочило к горлу. Дмитрий.

    Она неловко потянулась за телефоном, пальцы были холодными и непослушными. Экран загорелся, но вспыхнувшее имя было не его.

    «Лев Иванов». Помощник Дмитрия.

    Последний огонёк надежды внутри неё угас, оставив холодную, тёмную пустоту. Она резко вдохнула, воздух обжёг лёгкие, и ответила на звонок.

    «Госпожа Фёдорова, – голос Льва был вежливым, профессиональным и совершенно безразличным. – Приношу свои глубочайшие извинения. У господина Соколова возникла неотложная ситуация. Госпожа Васильева подвернула лодыжку во время репетиции, и ему пришлось немедленно к ней ехать».

    Карина.

    Это имя было знакомым ядом, который просочился через телефон прямо в её мозг. Всегда Карина. Причина пропущенной первой годовщины, третьего пропущенного дня рождения, а теперь и девятого невыполненного обещания.

    Анастасия ничего не сказала.

    Она просто завершила вызов.

    Экран телефона погас, отразив её бледное, онемевшее лицо. Она выглядела как незнакомка.

    Она открыла переписку с Дмитрием. Её пальцы двигались со странной, отстранённой точностью.

    «Дмитрий Соколов, между нами всё кончено».

    Отправить.

    Затем, без малейшего колебания, её палец нашёл опцию: «Заблокировать и удалить контакт».

    Когда она это сделала, в голове воцарилась глубокая тишина. Огромный камень, годами давивший ей на грудь, наконец-то свалился. Она снова могла дышать. Воздух, когда-то разреженный и колючий, теперь казался полным и чистым.

    Она так резко встала, что стул со скрежетом проехался по линолеуму.

    Госпожа Морозова подскочила, её выражение сменилось с жалости на тревогу.

    Анастасия подошла к столу служащей и осторожно поставила нетронутый стакан с водой.

    Она посмотрела госпоже Морозовой прямо в глаза, её голос был ясным и твёрдым, каким не был уже много лет.

    «Я передумала. Я не выхожу замуж».

    Госпожа Морозова открыла рот, но не смогла вымолвить ни слова.

    Анастасия добавила, скорее для себя, чем для служащей, – клятва, прошептанная в стерильном воздухе кабинета. «Больше никогда».

    С этими словами она развернулась и вышла из Дворца бракосочетания.

    Холодный ноябрьский ветер ударил в лицо, но не заморозил. Он пробудил её.

    Она снова достала телефон, пролистала контакты до имени, которое сохранила семь месяцев назад. Номер, по которому она никогда не звонила.

    Она вспомнила того мужчину. Главного соперника Дмитрия. Он зажал её в углу на приёме, его синие глаза были полны насмешливого веселья, и сказал ей нечто совершенно абсурдное.

    Тогда она сочла это провокацией, способом задеть Дмитрия.

    Теперь это был её единственный выход.

    Сердце заколотилось в рёбрах, когда она нажала кнопку вызова.

    Телефон прозвонил лишь раз, прежде чем ей ответили. Глубокий, притягательный голос прорвался сквозь городской шум.

    «Кто это?»

    Анастасия закрыла глаза, глубоко вздохнула и выпалила слова, пока не растеряла всю смелость.

    «Господин Волков, то, что вы сказали семь месяцев назад… ваше предложение ещё в силе?»

    На том конце провода на мгновение воцарилась тишина, а затем раздался тихий, опасно-весёлый смешок, от которого по спине пробежал холодок.

    Девять отказов от брака: я вышла замуж за соперника моего бывшего Глава 2

    Тихий, полный циничного веселья смешок прозвучал в трубке, и от этого звука щёки Анастасии вспыхнули.

    «И о каком же предложении речь? – медленно, с расстановкой произнёс Григорий Волков. – У меня ужасная память на отказы».

    Анастасия прикусила нижнюю губу, и лёгкая боль помогла ей собраться. Она заставила себя говорить ровно.

    «Вы сказали, что если мне когда-нибудь понадобится муж, я могу вам позвонить».

    Она сделала ещё один вдох, выдавливая из себя остальные слова.

    «Вы сказали, что вам нужна жена, чтобы разобраться с вашей семьёй».

    В трубке снова воцарилась тишина. На этот раз она затягивалась. Она стала такой долгой, что Анастасия уже подумала, он вот-вот бросит трубку. Она услышала слабое шуршание ткани, словно он надевал пиджак.

    Затем его голос вернулся, но в нём не осталось и следа былой игривости. Теперь он звучал резко, прямо и решительно.

    «Где ты?»

    Сердце Анастасии пропустило удар. Она ответила автоматически, её голос был едва слышен.

    «У Центрального дворца бракосочетания».

    «Хорошо», – сказал Григорий. – Стой там. Дай мне десять минут».

    Она потеряла дар речи от изумления.

    «Десять минут?»

    «Башня Волковых в трёх кварталах оттуда», – заявил он тоном, не терпящим возражений. – Я еду. Распишемся».

    В трубке повисли короткие гудки.

    Анастасия застыла на тротуаре, всё ещё прижимая телефон к уху. В голове была полная пустота. Это был чистый, отчаянный порыв, последняя попытка доказать себе, что она хоть что-то контролирует в своей жизни. Она и подумать не могла, что он действительно согласится.

    Начала подступать паника, окатывая её ледяной волной. Первым инстинктивным желанием было сбежать, поймать такси и снова раствориться в тихом несчастье своей жизни.

    Но потом перед её глазами возникло лицо Дмитрия, его брови, сдвинутые в притворной заботе о Карине. Мысль о возвращении к той жизни, об ожидании десятого нарушенного обещания, была страшнее этой безумной авантюры.

    Она сделала глубокий, прерывистый вдох и заставила себя выпрямиться, словно солдат, ожидающий своей участи.

    Тем временем на верхнем этаже здания Корпорации Соколовых Дмитрий мерил шагами свой кабинет, и узел раздражения в животе стягивался всё туже.

    Он отправил Анастасии сообщение.

    «Малыш, прости. У Карины была экстренная ситуация. Я всё исправлю позже».

    Но рядом с сообщением появился яркий красный восклицательный знак. Не доставлено.

    Он нахмурился, решив, что это проблема с сетью. Попробовал ещё раз. Тот же результат.

    Он потёр виски – привычный жест, когда он был раздосадован, – и решил позвонить.

    Холодный, автоматический голос ответил ему: «Абонент, которому вы звоните, в настоящее время недоступен».

    Его захлестнула волна раздражения, более острая и сильная, чем обычно. Анастасия никогда так не поступала. Она всегда была рядом, всегда ждала, всегда прощала.

    Он решил, что она просто устроила истерику, на этот раз посильнее, чем обычно, но всё же истерику. Он даст ей остыть. Она вернётся. Она всегда возвращалась.

    Девять минут спустя у тротуара перед Анастасией остановился чёрный Майбах, его шины издали тихое, надменное шипение.

    Задняя дверь открылась, и из неё показалась длинная нога в безупречно сшитых брюках.

    Григорий выбрался из машины. Он был выше, чем она его помнила с того приёма, с тёмными волосами и глазами цвета штормового моря. От него исходила аура неприкрытой, дикой власти.

    Сначала он даже не посмотрел на неё. Его взгляд был устремлён на вывеску над дверью: Центральный дворец бракосочетания. Медленная, хищная улыбка тронула его губы. И только потом его глаза остановились на ней.

    Его взгляд был невероятно бесцеремонным, он смерил её с головы до ног, словно оценивал выгодное приобретение.

    Анастасия инстинктивно отступила на полшага, чувствуя себя беззащитной и оцениваемой.

    Уголок рта Григория дёрнулся вверх. Он протянул к ней руку, его голос прозвучал низким, собственническим рокотом.

    «Паспорт и документы с собой, будущая госпожа Волкова?»

    Девять отказов от брака: я вышла замуж за соперника моего бывшего Глава 3

    Анастасия уставилась на протянутую руку Григория.

    Большая, с длинными, сильными пальцами. Рука, которая, казалось, с одинаковой лёгкостью могла как созидать, так и разрушать. Она олицетворяла будущее, которое Анастасия не могла себе даже вообразить.

    В её сознании вспыхнул образ: Дмитрий, его рука, нежно лежащая на перевязанной лодыжке Карины.

    Её спина выпрямилась. Колебание исчезло, сменившись холодной, твёрдой решимостью.

    Она вложила свою дрожащую руку в его. Его ладонь была тёплой и сухой, а хватка – крепкой, когда он обхватил её холодные пальцы. Это была не утешающая поддержка, а заявление прав.

    На губах Григория заиграла торжествующая усмешка. Он сжал её руку сильнее, не давая шанса вырваться, и повёл её обратно ко входу в Бюро регистрации браков.

    Госпожа Морозова как раз собирала вещи со стола, когда увидела, что Анастасия вернулась, на этот раз в сопровождении высокого, ошеломительно красивого мужчины. У служащей отвисла челюсть.

    Григорий одарил госпожу Морозову улыбкой, настолько очаровательной, что она могла бы растопить ледники. «Сударыня, мы немного торопимся».

    Под напором одного лишь присутствия Григория весь процесс превратился в размытое пятно. Документы были заполнены с молниеносной скоростью.

    Когда пришло время фотографироваться, лицо Анастасии было застывшей, неестественной маской. Григорий наклонился ближе, его тёплое дыхание коснулось её уха.

    «Улыбнись, Анастасия, – прошептал он, и его голос низкой вибрацией отозвался во всём её теле. – С этого момента победительница – ты».

    У неё перехватило дыхание. Она посмотрела на него, в эти тёмно-синие глаза, и впервые увидела в них нечто иное, кроме насмешки. Это был проблеск… чего-то другого.

    Лёгкая, искренняя улыбка тронула её губы, когда вспышка фотоаппарата запечатлела их свадебное фото.

    Когда ей в руку вложили свидетельство о браке с печатью, всё это по-прежнему казалось нереальным.

    Анастасия Фёдорова теперь стала Анастасией Волковой.

    Как только они вышли на улицу, Григорий отпустил её руку.

    Он полез во внутренний карман пиджака, достал связку ключей и элегантную чёрную карту и втиснул их ей в ладонь.

    Анастасия посмотрела вниз. Красивый ключ от квартиры и карта «Привилегия».

    «Что это?» – спросила она охрипшим голосом.

    «Ключ от пентхауса в Княжеском районе. Твой новый дом, – сказал Григорий небрежным тоном, будто протягивал ей рекламный буклет. – На карте нет пароля и нет лимита. Пользуйся».

    Он сделал паузу, его глаза блеснули.

    «Считай это карманными деньгами за то, что ты госпожа Волкова».

    Тяжесть ключа и карты обжигала ей руку. «Этого не было в нашем уговоре».

    «Теперь есть, – голос Григория был ровным, не оставляющим места для возражений. – Моя жена не живёт скромно. Особенно на глазах у Дмитрия Соколова».

    Он произнёс имя Дмитрия, и всё встало на свои места. Это был не просто брак по расчёту. Это было объявление войны. А она – его новейшее, самое стратегическое оружие.

    Он открыл для неё дверь Майбаха.

    «Садись. Я отвезу тебя за вещами».

    Анастасия скользнула на мягкое кожаное сиденье, и её чувства наполнил аромат мяты и дорогой кожи. Это был запах мира, которому она не принадлежала.

    Она назвала адрес съёмной квартиры.

    Машина плавно отъехала от тротуара. После недолгого молчания Григорий заговорил, глядя на неё в зеркало заднего вида.

    «Ты живёшь в доме, который принадлежит семье Васильевых?»

    Анастасия замерла. Адрес, который она назвала, принадлежал зданию, которым владела её мать, Кристина. Место, где она была не более чем арендатором, платящим по рыночной ставке.

    Её ответ был холодным и резким. «Моя фамилия – Фёдорова».

    Григорий наблюдал за ней в зеркале, уловив в её глазах вспышку обиды. С его губ сорвалось тихое, понимающее хмыканье – звук, который не был ни смехом, ни вздохом.

    Он не стал настаивать. Вместо этого он достал телефон, открыл какую-то соцсеть и сфотографировал свидетельство о браке в своей руке.

    Он тщательно выстроил кадр, показав только официальную печать, дату и слово «Брак», но скрыв их имена.

    Он напечатал одно-единственное слово в качестве подписи.

    Женаты.

    А затем нажал «Опубликовать».