HARRIET CLARK

General Justine Estes died in the cold vacuum of space, betrayed and murdered by her most trusted subordinate. But instead of eternal rest, she woke up five hundred years in the past, trapped in the weak, bruised body of a disgraced socialite who shared her exact name. A flood of pathetic memories hit her. The original girl had just been poisoned and dumped in a filthy alley by her jealous stepsister, Julissa. When Justine dragged this battered body back to the family mansion, there was no comfort waiting for her. Her stepmother faked tears, her stepsister leaked doctored club photos to frame her for a dirty scandal, and her billionaire fiancé looked at her with pure disgust, plotting to ruin her just to break their engagement. Her father, blinded by the fake rumors and his own vanity, raised his hand to viciously strike her across the face. "From this day on, you are no longer my daughter! I will disown you!" For a proud, decorated war hero, the arrogance of these weak civilians was laughable. How did this pathetic family dare to treat her like dirt, and what dark conspiracy was actually hiding behind the original mother's mysterious disappearance? But she was no longer the cowering, helpless girl they were used to bullying. As her father's hand swung down, Justine simply stepped aside, letting the heavy blow crack across her stepsister's face instead. Leaving the screaming family behind, she walked out the door, ready to turn this gilded cage into a battlefield.

My home, once a sanctuary, became a nightly carnival as my husband, Ethan, turned it into a themed party house, leaving me a ghost in my own life. Just as I believed my pregnancy might bring change, Ethan demanded I shave my head to "amuse" Chloe, a sick child he sponsored, whose hair had fallen out from treatment. My long hair, once cherished by him, fell in clumps to the floor. Then, on our fifth anniversary, he forced me, pregnant and a professional snowboarder, to be Chloe's "human cushion" on a snowy slope. The impact was brutal, resulting in a devastating stillbirth. He blamed me, accusing me of lying as he walked away, comforting Chloe while I bled on the snow. Ethan's cruelty escalated, turning my grief into a public spectacle. His friends bet on my child's life, Chloe confessed to intentionally causing my miscarriage, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, destroyed my deceased brother's grave. Why did he hate me so much? What had I done to deserve such unending torment? Why was I, his wife, subjected to such monstrous acts while a manipulative girl held all his empathy? The pain became a dull throb, and I sought refuge in numbness, deciding to end it all. A desperate plan formed, a final act of agency in a life consumed by his cruelty.

My marriage to Liam was supposed to be a dream, a glossy magazine cover come to life. He was the charming tech CEO, I, the brilliant data scientist. But behind the facade of our perfect life, three years passed without him ever touching me, a supposed victim of extreme OCD. Then, at his company gala, a spilled champagne tray revealed the monstrous truth: he didn' t pull me to safety. He shoved me. My head hit the marble, and as I lay dazed, he frantically wiped a champagne drop from his suit, feigning concern that painted him a tortured husband, not the brutal one. The real horror unfolded when I woke, drugged and paralyzed, to his casual laughter just outside the door. He hadn' t panicked; he' d deliberately pushed me. And then, the names: Jake, Ben, and finally, Chloe-my best friend. "Why do you think I married Ava in the first place? It' s the only way to stay in Chloe' s orbit." Every lie, every excuse, every moment of his supposed suffering, shattered into dust. I wasn't his wife; I was a pawn in his sick game, drugged and left vulnerable for his friends' crude "entertainment." How could I have been so blind, so naive, to give my heart to a monster who used me for sport? The sheer audacity, the cold calculation of it all, burned through me. I had to escape this gilded cage, expose the man who had turned my life into a cruel joke. I needed to reclaim my life, and I knew exactly how to dismantle his.

The small, intricate knot of red silk and jade dangled from David Chen' s fingers. He was about to hand it to me, just like he always did. This was the moment that began a lifetime of misery in my first life. "Sarah," he began, his voice the same smooth tone that once soothed me. But this time, I pushed his hand away, a sharp, instinctive motion. His gentle look vanished, replaced by confusion, then irritation. He turned, and without hesitation, offered the charm to my stepsister, Chloe. I watched Chloe' s triumphant little smile, the memory of my death fresh in my mind. My sweet dog, Lucky, had died. My husband, David, had then lost his mind. He' d claimed Chloe looked just like my dead dog and brought her to our friends' gathering. "Sarah, let' s get a divorce," he' d shrieked, eyes wild. "I want Chloe to be my wife." He then killed me, and took his own life before my fading eyes. His obsession wasn't with a woman; it was with a ghost. And now I was back, at the charity gala meant to celebrate our arranged engagement. The outcome was supposed to be set in stone, a merger of families and fortunes. But this time, I had changed the script. I would not ignore Mark Evans. This time, I would live for myself.

The rented cabin was supposed to be my honeymoon suite, the culmination of years of devotion to Jocelyn. But on our wedding night, my bride, dressed in white, sat on the bed wearing a red bandana over her mouth. She tearfully confessed it was to honor her first kiss, shared with her ex, Ryan Blakely, insisting she preserve that memory. When I gently tried to remove it, she flinched, then bit my hand, screaming I was disrespectful and only wanted what I wanted, before storming out. The next morning, she posted a picture with Ryan on social media, implying I gave her the silent treatment and calling him a "real friend." Years of sacrifice-a football scholarship, a dream business, my friends-all for her, felt like a lie. I looked at the bite mark, a small wound that felt like a gaping chasm in our entire relationship, and knew something was fundamentally broken. The old Caleb would have chased her, begged for an apology, desperate to fix things. But this time, something snapped, and I called my friends to officially start the hunting guide business I had abandoned for her. My life with Jocelyn was over, and I was finally going to live for myself.

My last breath was a ragged gasp at 48, my heart giving out from sheer exhaustion. The final image burned into my mind: my husband, Matthew, laughing at a lavish birthday party with Stella, his mistress, who had gotten rich from a real estate boom built on my stolen money. Then, I woke up, 23 again, weeks before my wedding to that very man. In my first life, I was a trusting fool, sacrificing everything for a man who drained me dry and used my inheritance to fund his mistress's rise. I realized the cruel irony: his opulent life was built on my hidden sweat, my endless labor, while I toiled for a family that wasn't even truly mine. This time, things would be different. This time, I would protect what was mine and claim the life they stole.

I was just a paralegal, Ava Miller, trapped in a life I didn't choose, yet owed everything to Ethan Vance. He' d swooped in years ago, paying off my crushing student loans and mom's medical bills, making me his "savior." My job at his company and the lavish apartment he provided were constant reminders of my dependence, a gilded cage I' d willingly entered. Then, the termination letter landed on my desk. Fired. Effective immediately. No warning, just a cold "restructuring." But I knew the truth: his ex, Chloe Davenport, the one he never got over, was back in town. It felt like a deliberate, cruel punch, a betrayal so sharp it knocked the air out of me. Just hours after I learned Chloe was back, my entire life was snatched away, leaving me adrift. When I tried to return the money he'd "invested" in me, hoping for a clean break, his eyes glinted: "You belong to me." Chloe's friends attacked me, but Ethan, blind and infatuated, only asked me not to "cause trouble for Chloe's sake." His family's texts sealed my humiliation, confirming I was "that paralegal," easily replaced by "the right kind of girl." The injustice burned, a white-hot fury against the man who claimed to save me, only to hold me captive. How could I be so good at my job, so dedicated, and it meant nothing against his obsession and control? I was trapped, owned, facing physical illness exacerbated by stress, while he paraded his new life with Chloe. But as I watched Ethan plan his public proposal to Chloe, a cold, clear resolve hardened inside me. He wouldn't let me walk away clean, so I would find another way, a way that would make him regret ever thinking he owned me. The game had changed, and Ava Miller was about to change the rules, orchestrating a final, devastating farewell.

Ethan Miller, a young, uniquely talented fashion student, tirelessly juggled a demanding barista job with the immense responsibility of supporting his ailing mother, all while secretly sketching couture designs, dreaming of a runway far removed from his cramped Queens apartment and mounting medical bills. His arduous life took a breathtaking turn when Victoria Devereaux, the formidable CEO of a global fashion empire, seemingly plucked him from obscurity, offering a coveted paid internship that promised entry into the exclusive, glittering world he yearned for. However, this dazzling opportunity quickly unraveled into a waking nightmare; Ethan soon discovered he was merely a malleable "pet project," ruthlessly exploited in Victoria's twisted power games with her manipulative ex, Marcus Thorne, culminating in public humiliation, the destruction of his treasured family memento, and his chilling imprisonment in a dark storage unit. How could the woman who showered him with lavish attention and proclaimed him a prodigy so heartlessly discard him, dismissing his talent and dignity in front of the very elite she introduced him to, all while choosing the calculated lies of her toxic ex over his desperate pleas? Fully comprehending his crushing insignificance as a disposable "toy," Ethan, broken but fiercely determined, ultimately chose self-preservation over lingering hope, making the agonizing decision to board a one-way flight to Paris and painstakingly rebuild a life where his dreams, and his heart, could truly belong to him alone.

I woke up in the same rotting trailer, the familiar smell of damp and despair assaulting me. My head throbbed, not from pills, but from the searing pain of a life lived twice. Next door, my frail mother-in-law Carol coughed weakly, and my son Leo whimpered, burning with fever. This was my second chance, a harrowing rebirth from an existence I’d tragically ended. In my first life, I’d watched Leo succumb to a rare virus, his grandmother die of grief, utterly abandoned by my husband, Captain David Miller. We’d been left to rot in rural West Virginia while he thrived on base with his mistress, Jessica. Now, Leo was critically ill again, his only hope a prohibitively expensive, experimental antiviral. When we finally arrived at Fort Devereux, David’s reaction wasn’t relief, but utter fury and embarrassment. He lied to his commanding officer, pretending we were "church folks" whose house burned down, then raged at me for threatening his career. We discovered the money David claimed to send was instead funding Jessica’s luxurious life and her daughter Lily’s private daycare. But the ultimate betrayal came when he violently smashed Leo's desperately needed medicine, prioritizing his mistress and his perfect image over his dying son. A guttural, animalistic scream ripped from my soul as our only hope for Leo shattered on the wall. How could a father be so monstrous, so utterly devoid of humanity, to sacrifice his own child for a lie? The decades of neglect, the constant starvation, the unfeeling silence from him—it all coalesced into a blinding rage. My grief transformed into an unyielding steel. As military police arrived, I clutched my feverish son, pointed at David, and my voice rang out. “I am Sarah Miller, Captain David Miller’s legal wife,” I declared to the horrified onlookers. “And he just destroyed our dying son’s life-saving medicine!”

Ethan Miller, a dedicated architect, sacrificed his dreams for a decade to support his powerful CEO wife, Victoria, believing they shared a deep, quiet bond. He loved her, despite a quiet sorrow about being told they likely couldn't have children. Then, Victoria dropped a bombshell: she'd been drugged in Miami and slept with Liam, her young intern turned personal assistant. Six months later, a shocking hospital visit revealed she was pregnant—with Liam's baby. Instead of choosing Ethan, Victoria ruthlessly prioritized Liam and the child, systematically pushing her husband out of their shared life. He faced public humiliation and false accusations, orchestrated by Liam, isolating Ethan further. After their divorce, Liam's malice peaked with a brutal alley mugging, leaving Ethan beaten and alone, specifically told, "That's from Liam." Just when he thought he'd hit rock bottom, a devastating cancer diagnosis struck, a cruel irony after such profound betrayal. How could a man who gave everything be reduced to this, facing emotional ruin, physical assault, and a life-threatening illness, seemingly at his ex-wife's lover's mercy? From this darkest hour, a surprising ally emerged: Scarlett Dubois, who not only saved him but stood by him through his grueling recovery, hinting at a future he never imagined.

Cold water hit my face, shocking me awake in the dingy back room of Oakhaven Eats. My son Leo stood over me, a dripping glass in his hand, his child's voice sharp with accusation. But I jolted awake with a searing memory: the Philadelphia alley in 2014, the freezing rain, Amelia’s triumphant smile as I drew my last breath. Then, darkness—my death, nine years in the future. My mother-in-law, Carol Bishop, stormed in, her face a familiar mask of disapproval, instantly demanding my meager tips and shaming me for being a ‘bum’ compared to her ‘hero firefighter’ son Mark. The stench of stale grease and faded floral wallpaper confirmed this wasn't just a dream; it was indeed October 2005, a year after Mark's supposed heroic death. Every memory flooded back: raising Leo alone, enduring Carol's daily abuse and theft, and ultimately discovering Mark was alive, thriving in Philadelphia with Amelia, my adoptive sister. Amelia, the quiet girl I protected, who had systematically stolen my identity, my future, and even my heroic father’s legacy. How could I be back? How could this elaborate deception, this cruel future I’d already survived and witnessed, now be my past? The echo of Amelia’s taunts—"I took your SAT scores, your UPenn acceptance, even your father’s story"—still stung with the force of betrayal. My own son, Leo, had disowned me in that alley, poisoned by their lies, abandoning me to my final moments. But in this inexplicable rebirth, the numbing despair I remembered was replaced by a burning fury, a cold, hard resolve. I was back, I was alive, and this time, the truth I knew would not be buried—it would be meticulously unearthed, weaponized. This time, they would pay for everything.

Leena's life was the opposite of the Cinderella story. She toiled hard to support her family. She took classes in the morning, and worked in the evenings. Her routine life took a turn for the worse with Miguel's return and she slipped into an abyss of love and desire. Leena closed her eyes and waited patiently for the fall. She struggled, shed tears. "There's no end to this suffering," she thought. She gave him many opportunities, but he betrayed her time and again, until one day, she finally decided to leave him and let him have a taste of his own medicine; the pain of loss and betrayal. The man beside her narrowed his eyes at the woman and said, "You are going to be mine. Don't think about other men!" Could she ever get out of this mess? Could she retain her happiness after suffering this deep injury to her heart?

He was the most powerful man in the entertainment industry; she was just a young and unknown actress. However, his dominating pursuit of her dragged Melissa into his world of deception and seduction. Her attempts to escape from him were thwarted at every turn, and she failed again and again. Finally, she capitulated and swallowed her bitter humiliation. However, adding insult to injury, she discovered that she was merely a cheap substitute for another woman in his life. Resolving to run away with another man leads to him having a mad-dog moment as he tries to win her back at any cost. It is then that Melissa realized his love and desire for her had escalated beyond her wildest imaginings. How should she choose? Return to him or start a new life with another man?

I was the President's Old Lady - and the only reason his MC was still breathing. For three years, I ran every legal business the Serpents of Redemption owned. While Craig chased road glory across state lines, I turned a failing auto shop and a tattoo parlor into the money that kept the brothers fed, the bikes fueled, and the clubhouse lights on. Then he rode home from a two-month run with a sweetbutt on the back of his Harley - and her son. Ginger, he said, had saved his life on the road. So he put her in the main residence, in the room directly across from our bed. He handed her my ledgers and called it repayment. When her son dumped a cup of scalding coffee over my hand, Craig never checked my burns. He scooped up the boy and blamed me. His grandmother - the club's Matriarch - stood before every patched brother and accused me of hurting "family." That night, Craig told me Ginger held a place in his heart I could never reach. A debt of blood he'd honor above me. Three years. My family's fortune. My scarred hand. All of it - worthless next to his roadside savior. So I did the one thing a President never expects his Old Lady to do. I gave back his patch. Now they can keep their empty ledgers. They can play happy family in a clubhouse I built. And when this motorcycle club burns - I'll be the one holding the match.

After six years away, I returned to my hometown with a single suitcase and a picture of my fiancé tangled up with my stepsister. I thought it was just a simple, disgusting betrayal, but when I planted a bug in their private suite to get a confession, I heard a truth that froze my blood. My fiancé, Leo, laughed about how my own father had already signed over my mother's legacy—The Nightingale Ranch—as collateral to his powerful family. "Once this is all done, Claire will have nothing. And the woman you marry will be me," my stepsister Jenna cheered. Leo cooed back, calling me a stray dog he'd kick to the curb once he was bored, a worthless woman who couldn't even hold onto her family's land. My family had sold me out, and the man I loved was planning to leave me with absolutely nothing. I didn't cry. The pain burned away into a cold, hard hate. How could my own father conspire with them to destroy the only thing I had left of my mother? I crashed their prestigious charity auction and played their filthy recording over the speakers for the entire town to hear. But when Leo charged at me in a murderous rage, a wall of leather and muscle stepped in front of me. Kade "Chaos" Peterson, the terrifying President of the rival motorcycle club, crushed Leo's wrist and announced to the stunned room, "She's with me now."

Chloe had just given birth to twins, lying exhausted in a cramped, bustling hospital ward. When she called her husband, Julian, he was busy partying with his actress mistress. He coldly hung up on her, having already drafted a brutal divorce agreement that would leave her with a pittance. Strangers in the next bed loudly mocked her pitiful state, gossiping about how Julian was dumping her. For years, Chloe had erased her own identity to fit into his elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage. She was completely alone, clutching her helpless babies, bracing herself to sign the cruel papers just to survive. She couldn't understand why her absolute devotion was met with such chilling indifference. Why did she have to suffer this ultimate humiliation while he celebrated with the woman who ruined her life? But then, a senior doctor noticed a unique mole on her wrist and ran a secret DNA test. The results were staggering: Chloe was the long-lost daughter of the billionaire Beaumont family. With her fiercely protective parents and three powerful brothers suddenly forming an impenetrable fortress around her, Chloe picked up her phone and texted her arrogant husband. "City Hall tomorrow at 10 AM. If you don't show up, my lawyer will handle everything. And trust me, you won't like their terms."

Five years ago, I stood in the freezing rain at my mother's funeral, waiting for my husband. Blake Knight, the billionaire NHL superstar, was two hours late. When he finally showed up, he brought his rumored girlfriend, the woman he had just rented a hotel rooftop for to celebrate her birthday. Watching him defend her fake tears, my heart completely died. I took off my diamond wedding ring, placed it on my mother's headstone, and walked away from my marriage forever. I fled to London, changed my name to Ava, and secretly raised the triplets he never knew existed. I thought I was finally safe from him. But today, my kids vandalized a silver Aston Martin in our apartment's parking garage, and the owner caught my youngest daughter. My phone rang. The voice on the other end was Blake's. He had moved into my building, and he was holding my little girl in his penthouse, demanding her mother come get her immediately. Panic suffocated me. If I walked through that door, my five years of hiding would be instantly destroyed. He would recognize me, realize I didn't get rid of our child like everyone thought, and he would use all his power to take my babies away. I couldn't let him ruin my life again. "I'm just her nanny," I lied through my teeth. I frantically begged my best friend to go upstairs and rescue my daughter in my place. He bought the disguise, but now, the King of the Ice is dangerously obsessed with investigating my new identity.

I woke up married to a stranger. Not just any stranger. Garrick Sinclair-the cold, ruthless captain of the Chicago Mustangs, the man every woman in Chicago dreamed of and every sensible woman stayed away from. I didn't remember marrying him. I didn't even remember sleeping with him. Yet there was a diamond ring on my finger, a marriage certificate beside the bed, and Garrick looking at me like I was nothing more than another gold digger trying to get her hands on his money. He offered me cash to disappear. I wanted nothing from him except the truth. But then his adoptive father died, leaving behind a shocking condition for Garrick's inheritance: He had to be married. Suddenly, the marriage neither of us remembered became the only thing protecting his family's billion-dollar empire. Then my mother was murdered. I came home to find her dead among the roses she loved, only to wake up in a police station as the prime suspect. My home was a crime scene. My mother was gone. And I had nowhere left to turn. Except the husband who had once wanted me gone. Garrick got me out of jail and pulled me into his world. But the closer we became, the stranger everything felt. Whenever he touched me, he remembered things he had forgotten. A locked room. A terrified little boy. A girl in a pink dress. And a promise made in the dark. I thought my marriage to Garrick was the worst mistake of my life. Now I'm starting to wonder if it was the one thing that was never a mistake at all. Because I may not be a stranger to Garrick Sinclair. I may be the missing piece of his darkest memory. And someone has already killed once to make sure we never remember the truth.

I went to my stepsister's birthday party, foolishly hoping for a family truce. Instead, she drugged my drink and had me shoved into a dark hotel suite, where a stranger took my innocence. When I sneaked back home the next morning, battered and humiliated, I overheard my stepsister and stepmother laughing in the hallway. They had orchestrated the whole trap to destroy my reputation so I would be forced to marry a thrice-divorced, abusive butcher. "And don't forget the little extras we've been putting in her food," my stepmother gloated. "She'll never lose the weight. That fat Miss Piggy is meant to be your backdrop." The revelation chilled me to the bone. My years of punishing diets, the brutal exercise, the deep self-hatred—none of it was my fault. It was poison, fed to me daily by the family I trusted. I packed a single bag, took the commemorative coin I had stolen from the stranger's nightstand as a reminder of my lowest point, and vanished into the city. One year later, having lost ninety pounds and transformed into a completely different woman, I agreed to attend the blind date with the butcher they arranged. But because of a flipped brass table number, I sat down in front of the wrong man. It was Julian Sinclair, the billionaire stranger from that dark room, and he looked at me and proposed a contract marriage.

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Ivanna had everything: a stable marriage, a promising career, and the love of the man she had fought for, even against his own family. But when she finally managed to conceive, fate tore her happiness away in the most heart-wrenching way imaginable. Her husband had wanted a child... just not with her. She made the hardest decision of her life: signing a divorce agreement that left her with nothing. She left without looking back, her heart shattered, carrying a silent promise never to return. Until now. Four years have passed, and she's back in Boston, the city where her dreams were once shattered-with a new life, newfound strength... and a secret that will change everything. She is no longer the same woman who left in silence. And her ex-husband isn't prepared to uncover what she's been hiding. What will happen when the ex-wife returns with the one secret that might ruin him... or redeem him?

She married him out of desperation, becoming the perfect docile wife while he treated her like dirt beneath his shoes. But everything shattered the night she overheard him mocking her with his friends-and discovered the necklace she'd cherished, her only link to the boy who once saved her life, didn't even belong to him. It was all a lie. No longer the doormat he married, she discards her fake identity and reclaims her birthright as the hidden heiress of Salvadore City. Now she's on a mission: find the necklace's true owner among his circle of friends, no matter how many hearts she has to break along the way. But her husband isn't ready to let go. Convinced she's playing games to make him jealous, he's blindsided when divorce papers land in his hands. By the time he realizes the woman he dismissed was never who he thought she was, she's already moved on-living her truth, chasing her destiny, and leaving him choking on regret. Some cages, once opened, can never be closed again.

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend's father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.