He Chose The Rogue: The Billionaire Healer's Cold Revenge

band Jackson, took away my spot on t

s the private jet. I've boo

my hands. Economy class.

bsolute joke, while a rogue too

hat I p

ink, took his mistress's h

e boss. He thought h

bagged a rich Alpha an

detail: Jackson's name

I pulled out my phone an

a'

"Revoke their flight clearance. Cut o

ryth

t lift into the sky. "Let's see if th

pte

y's

my coat, but it was nothing compared

eam G650 were already emit

hine. And it should be.

, the thousands of gallons of fuel in the tanks, and the Alph

ere was no mate-like warmth in his v

y of the situation. "Excuse me? We need to board.

adjusting his cufflinks-gold, studded w

ing with us," h

e Luna. I'm the one who secured the Dorsey Pack

cy, stripped of the tenderness it held five years ago. "She just came back

top of the stairs, posing like a

ilored for myself. It hung loosely on her frame,

. The kind of smile a shark

rgued, fighting to keep my voice

t space," Jackson's mot

nds tightly clutching the designer ba