picture it now, a house not so different from this one, its various rooms designed to house a large family: husband, wife and many children. I was supposed to have left the day after my hair dryers were dismantled. The plan was to spend a week setting up my new salon and furnishing the house. I wanted my new life to be in order before I saw him again. Not that I have grown fond of this place. I will not miss the few friends I have made, the people who do not know the woman I was before I came here, the men who over the years have thought they were in love with me. After I leave, I probably will not even remember the man who proposed to me. No one here knows that I am still married to you. I will only tell you a fragment of the story: I was barren and my husband took another wife. No one asked any more, so I have never told you about my children. I have wanted to leave ever since the three young men from the National Youth Service were killed. I decided to close my salon and jewelry store before I knew what I was going to do next, before the invitation to your father's funeral arrived like a map showing me the way. I memorized the names of the three young people and what each of them was studying at university. My Olamide would have been about their age; she would also be finishing university by now. When I read about them, I think of her. Akin, I often wonder if you think of her too. Even though sleep won't come, every night I close my eyes and fragments of the life I left behind come flooding back. I see the batik pillowcases in our bedroom, our neighbors and your family, which for an unwise time I thought was mine too. I see you. Tonight, I see the lamp you gave me a few weeks after we got married. I couldn't sleep in the dark, and you had nightmares if we left the fluorescent lights on. That lamp was your concession. You bought it without telling me you had found a solution, without asking me if I wanted a lamp. And as I stroked the bronze base and admired the glass panels that formed the dome, he asked me what I would take with me if our house were on fire. I didn't think twice before saying our baby, even though we didn't have children yet. You said what, not who. But you seemed a little hurt that, thinking it was a person, I hadn't considered saving him. I force myself out of bed and pull off my nightgown. I'm not wasting another minute. The questions I need answered, the ones I've stifled for over a decade, quicken my steps as I grab my bag and head into the living room. There are seventeen suitcases, ready to be loaded into the car. I look at them, remembering the contents of each one. If this house were on fire, what would I take? I have to think about that, because the first thing that comes to mind is nothing. I select the small suitcase I'd planned to take with me to the funeral and a leather bag filled with gold jewelry. Musa can carry the rest of the luggage for me another time. So that's it: fifteen years here, and although my house isn't on fire, all I'll take with me is a bag of gold and a change of clothes. The things that matter are inside me, locked in my chest like a tomb, where they will remain forever, my trunk of buried treasures. I leave the house. The air is chilly, and on the horizon the dark sky is turning a violet hue with the rising sun. Musa is leaning against the car, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick. He spits into a mug as I approach and puts the toothpick in his jacket pocket. He opens the car door, we shake hands, and I climb into the backseat. Musa turns on the radio and searches for a station. He chooses one where the day's broadcast is beginning with the national anthem. The doorman waves as we pull out of the condominium. The road stretches out before us, shrouded in a blanket of darkness that fades into the dawn as it leads me back to you.
lanned to take with me to the funeral and a leather bag filled with gold jewelry. Musa can carry the rest of the luggage for me another time. So that's it: fifteen years here, and although my house isn't on fire, all I'll take with me is a bag of gold and a change of clothes.
The things that matter are inside me, locked in my chest like a tomb, where they will remain forever, my trunk of buried treasures. I leave the house. The air is chilly, and on the horizon the dark sky is turning a violet hue with the rising sun. Musa is leaning against the car, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick. He spits into a mug as I approach and puts the toothpick in his jacket pocket. He opens the car door, we shake hands, and I climb into the backseat. Musa turns on the radio and searches for a station. He chooses one where the day's broadcast is beginning with the national anthem. The doorman waves as we pull out of the condominium. The road stretches out before us, shrouded in a blanket of darkness that fades into the dawn as it leads me back to you. 2 ILESA, 1985 ONWARDS I soon realized that they had come prepared for war.
I could see them through the glass panels of the door. I could hear them chattering. For almost a full minute they didn't seem to notice that I was standing on the other side. I wanted to leave them outside and go back upstairs to sleep. Maybe if they stayed out in the sun long enough they would melt into puddles of black mud. Iya Martha's buttocks were so big that if they melted they would completely cover the cement steps leading up to our door.
Iya Martha was one of my four mothers; she was my father's eldest wife. The man with her was Baba Lola, Akin's uncle. Both of them had their backs bent against the sun and their faces set in a grimace of determination. But as soon as I opened the door, they stopped chattering and smiled. I could guess the first words that would come out of the woman's mouth. I knew it would be an exaggerated display of a bond that had never existed between us. "Yejide, my precious daughter!" Iya Martha said with a big smile, covering my cheeks with her damp, fat hands. I smiled back, kneeling down to greet them. "Welcome, welcome. God must have woken up thinking of me today. That's why you're here," I said, bowing again after they'd entered and settled into the living room. They laughed. "Where's your husband? Did we find him at home?" Baba Lola asked, looking around as if I might have hidden Akin under a chair. "
Yes, sir, he's upstairs. I'll call him, but first I'll get you something to drink. What should I prepare for you to eat? Mashed yam?" The man glanced at my stepmother as if, while rehearsing the drama that was about to be performed, he hadn't read that part of the script. Iya Martha shook her head emphatically. "We can't eat. Go get your husband. We have important things to discuss with you both." I smiled, left the living room, and headed toward the stairs. I wondered what "important things" they had come to discuss. Several of my husband's relatives had already come to our house to discuss the same issue. The discussion consisted of them talking while I listened on my knees. On these occasions, Akin would pretend to listen and take notes while in reality he was writing down a list of things to do the next day. No one in that series of delegations could read or write, and everyone felt intimidated by those who could. They were impressed that Akin wrote down his words.
And sometimes, when he stopped writing, the person who was speaking at the time would complain about his lack of respect for not taking notes. Many times during these visits, my husband would plan the entire week's schedule while I felt terrible cramps in my legs. The visits irritated Akin, who wanted to tell his relatives to mind their own business. But I wouldn't let them. The long discussions did give me leg cramps, but at least they made me feel like part of his family. Until that afternoon, no one in my family had paid me such a visit since I got married. As I walked upstairs, I thought Iya Martha's presence meant a new argument was about to be made. I didn't need her advice. My house was fine without the important things they had to say. I didn't want to hear Baba Lola's hoarse voice straining between coughing fits, or see another flash of Iya Martha's teeth. I thought I had heard all there was to hear, and I was sure my husband felt the same. I was surprised to find Akin awake. He worked six days a week and spent most of his Sundays sleeping. But when I walked into our bedroom, he was pacing back and forth. "Did you know they were coming today?"
I looked at his face for the familiar mix of horror and irritation that he showed whenever a special delegation came to visit. "Are they here?" He stopped and clasped his hands behind his neck. No horror, no irritation. The room was beginning to feel stuffy. "You knew they were coming? And you didn't tell me?" "Let's go downstairs." He left the room. "Akin, what's wrong? What's going on?" I asked as he left. I sat down on the bed, put my head in my hands, and tried to breathe.
I stayed that way until I heard Akin's voice calling me. I went down to join him in the living room and smiled, but not so wide that I showed my teeth, just a slight lift at the corners of my mouth. The kind that said: Even if you old folks don't know anything about my marriage, I'm happy, no, ecstatic, to hear all the important things you have to say about it. After all, I'm a good wife. I didn't notice her at first, even though she was perched on the edge of Iya Martha's chair. She was pale, a pale yellow like the inside of an unripe mango. Her thin lips were smeared with blood-red lipstick. I leaned toward my husband. His body was rigid, and he didn't put his arms around me to pull me closer. I tried to figure out where the yellow woman had come from, and for a crazy minute I wondered if Iya Martha had kept her hidden under her clothes when she came in. "Dear wife, our people say that when a man has one thing and that thing becomes two, he doesn't get upset, does he?"
Baba Lola said. I nodded, smiling. "Well, dear wife, this is the new wife. It takes a child to call another child into this world. Who knows, maybe the king in heaven will answer your prayers because of this wife? When she gets pregnant and has a son, we're sure you'll have one too," Baba Lola continued. Iya Martha nodded in agreement. - Yejide, my daughter, we have thought about this matter and postponed this decision many times, your husband's family and I. And your other mothers. I closed my eyes. I was about to wake up from my trance.
When I opened them, the yellow-mango woman was still there, a little blurry, but still there. I was stunned. I expected them to talk about the fact that I still had no children. I was armed with a million smiles. Apologetic smiles, compassionate smiles, God's-will-be-done smiles-think of all the fake smiles it takes to survive an afternoon with a group of people who claim to want your best while poking their finger into your open wound:
second, third, and fourth times... Then he says we're more than friends, and I feel myself melt. Turns out even a man like him has a heart. It's a shame we can't be together. Because he'll never be able to find out that... He's the father of my child. "How about another drink?" The deep voice sent a shiver down my spine and I looked to my left to see who had spoken. Holy shit. I was face to face with the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. He was tall enough to tower over me, even when I was sitting on a tall bar stool, and his broad shoulders strained against the sports jacket he wore. His thick black hair was swept back from his face, giving me a full view of his dark blue eyes. They watched me with an intensity I'd never seen before, and I was instantly drawn to him. I toyed with the rim of my empty glass. "And...how much would that cost me?" His smile widened. He sat down on the stool next to mine, leaning in close. "Time." He paused, tilting his head. "And sleep." "Sleep?" I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well, we won't be getting much sleep tonight, so you'll probably be tired in the morning." I couldn't help but blush. Normally, a one-liner like that would have been a huge turn-off, and I would have headed for the door without a backward glance. I'd been approached before, and I was definitely no stranger to men with big... egos, but his confidence seemed well-earned. I could sense there was something... breathtaking about him. The bartender placed a full glass in front of me before taking the empty glass away. Hooking up with a strange man wasn't something I'd planned on doing tonight; in fact, it wasn't something I'd done before or intended to do. I could feel the refusal I'd prepared dying in my throat. I'd been working so hard, for God's sake! I deserved to go out and have some fun for a change. "Convince me." I accepted the drink, feeling quite bold, like some kind of femme fatale. He raised an eyebrow in amusement and gave me a 'I guess looking at me would be enough' gesture. "Well, you're attractive," I admitted. "And so far you seem nice, but I don't know you." "What better way to get to know someone than to get naked and explore each other?" "Maybe, I don't know... a name first?" He chuckled, his rich baritone sending a wave of desire through me. Those deep eyes gleamed as he leaned in close. "Jonah." "Hi, Jonah. I'm Naomi." Jonah's eyes softened and he reached out to take my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Naomi." The way his mouth enveloped my name made my entire body flush. "There, now we've met. So let's finish our drinks, go out together, and spend several pleasant hours discovering each other." I had to admit, this all sounded pretty amazing. As the collar of his jacket moved, I could see the hint of a tattoo.
lights blending into a kaleidoscope of colors. I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. But I can't. I can't escape the betrayal. I can't escape the pain. I reach for the bottle again, the glass heavy in my hand. I take another sip, this time straight from the bottle, feeling the liquor slide down my throat. I welcome the pain. I deserve it. I was too blind to see the signs. Too stupid to realize what was happening right under my nose. For over six damn months. My boiling anger boils over, a white-hot rage. I throw the bottle across the room, the glass shattering into a million pieces. The sound echoes through the suite, a sharp contrast to the silence. I sink back onto the couch, the leather creaking beneath my weight. I'm alone now, surrounded by shards of glass and broken promises. But I don't care. I'm here to drink, to escape, to vent my anger. And no one, not even Cassandra or Ace, can stop me. I'm a volcano about to erupt. My eyes land on one of my guitars, sitting in the corner, a silent witness to my pain. It's a custom Gibson Les Paul, as dark as my mood. I walk over to it furiously, gripping it by the neck, the smooth wood familiar beneath my fingers. My reflection stares back at me from the shiny surface. Dark hair a little too long, a dark beard shadowing my jaw, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Dark eyes glower at me. My arms, muscled from years of playing guitar and working out, flex as I lift the instrument. The leather bracelets on my wrists, a constant fixture, stand out against my tattooed arm and highlight my long, strong fingers. The tattoo on my right arm, an intricate design of a phoenix rising from the ashes, seems to mock me. I'm not rising from anything right now. I'm drowning. With a sudden roar, I slam the guitar against the wall. The sound of cracking wood and snapping strings echoes through the room, a symphony of destruction. I watch as pieces of the guitar scatter across the floor, a mirror image of my heart and soul. I turn to the bar, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The glasses are lined in neat rows, their crystal surfaces glinting in the soft light. I pick one up, the delicate stem breaking between my fingers. Another follows, then another, the sound of glass breaking a harsh melody in the silence. My chest heaves, my heart slamming against my ribs. I look around the room at the destruction I've caused. The shattered guitar, the broken glasses, the chaos. It's a reflection of my life, the mess I'm in. And for the first time, I admit it to myself. Cassandra and I haven't exactly been on good terms for a while. She was selfish, difficult, always putting herself first. She was a beast in bed, which probably blinded me. But I was the one making all the sacrifices, the one trying to make things work. The one with the big money, supporting.
Paris! My first morning in Paris! I almost whirl into a dance, but I catch myself as I step out of my suite. The golden light of the Parisian morning filters through the tall windows of the George V Hotel, casting a warm glow on the marble floors. I step into the grand lobby, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. I'm really here-Paris! The city of love, art, and endless possibilities. I head to the reception desk, where a kind-faced, silver-haired man in an impeccably pressed uniform stands ready to help. His name tag reads "Henri." My brother Simon mentioned that Henri was the best concierge in Paris. As I approach, he gives me a polite nod and a warm smile. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Sinclair. You look lovely, my dear. How may I be of assistance today?" "Good morning, Henri!" I can't help but smile back at him. "Would you please arrange for a hotel driver, a car? I'm heading to the Louvre this morning. I've decided that my first day of exploring has to be there, and I can't wait to take in all its treasures." Henri's smile widens, and he nods approvingly. "Ah, the Louvre. An excellent choice for your first day. You will find it truly magnificent. Just a moment, mademoiselle." He picks up his phone and makes a quick call. Within moments, he confirms that a hotel car will be arriving shortly. As I wait, I glance around the lobby, taking in the opulent ambiance. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting sparkling reflections on the polished surfaces. Elegant, plush furnishings invite guests to relax and linger. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the soft clink of fine china from the nearby dining room. It's like stepping into a dream. I turn to Henri, who's now watching me with friendly curiosity. "How's your brother, the esteemed Simon Sinclair?" he asks. "Busy conquering the world, as usual." I laugh. I love my brother so much, and of course Henri would know him, or know of him. Simon seems to know everyone, or everyone knows him, I reflect, from governors, film directors, and captains of industry to the best concierge in Paris. "And is this your first time here, mademoiselle?
cloudy glass, whose windshield was trying uselessly to clear it, was something that had stayed with me for five years. Almost every night, that nightmare was my greatest companion. Except that, when I woke up, I didn't feel the relief of not being in my reality. On the contrary... the empty bed was proof enough that the death of two people so important in my life was not an illusion. I was the one who caused that death. It was my fault and no one else's. I always knew I was a controlling son of a bitch, and I fought day after day not to suffocate TaÃs with my temper. She was never submissive, not at all, and that was what I loved most about her personality, although it was a fetish of mine in bed that my wife had never been able to fulfill. Maybe, that day, I should have let my fucking control freak take over and locked her in the house to stop her from leaving. Much less taking our son with her. Or maybe I shouldn't have followed them, swearing I would be protecting them. That the best option was to try to bring her back home. TaÃs was no longer happy. She never wanted marriage. Pregnancy had led her to agree to our union, but she was too young. I had convinced her, and nothing would ever make me regret it so much again. Being a father was my dream. It still was, in fact. I hadn't expected to have a child only to lose him less than a year later. He would have been six by then. He would have been running around at that party, just like the beautiful little girl in the pink dress whose parents had already scolded her more than once. I hated parties like that, where all that reigned was hypocrisy. Where people looked at me as if I were watching each one of them to write down any little mistake on my list of future dismissals. So, a breath of fresh air like that, the sound of a child's laughter, her mischievous manner... all of that almost made me smile. Almost. The little girl was probably the daughter of one of my employees. I couldn't say for sure, because I wasn't exactly attentive to their personal lives. What really mattered to me was their performance within the office. I used to be a little more sociable – but only a little – but after TaÃs died, I literally closed myself off from the world. At the office, I was known as Iron Man; I was just as controlling as I was in my personal life. People didn't know that this information was passed on to me, but unfortunately for them, the only person who had any access to me was my secretary, and she would tell me this with a laugh. I didn't find the nickname that funny, although her laugh was adorable. By the way, she was at the party. She was very pretty – that was what I could see from a distance.
have closed myself off so much from the world around me, becoming a person without friends. Because I was always studying or doing something to please my father, I didn't have time for friends, and the very few people I knew only approached me out of interest. The only people I have are my father and Edna, my former nanny who is now a housekeeper. I am currently twenty-five years old, and last year I graduated in another course, Political Science, and after waiting a long time, I decided that I am going to pursue my dreams. Today I am going to take my first step. I sent my resume three days ago to a very famous company here in Canada. I didn't wait long; yesterday they called me, asking me to attend a job interview, but it's me and two other people who are competing for that position. But you're rich, why do you want to work? Well, my father is rich, not me. I want to try to achieve my dreams starting from the bottom, just like my grandfather did; I want to climb the ladder little by little, with my own efforts, and even though I've never worked, I know that if I work hard and dedicate myself, I'll make it, no matter what the difficulties. I snap out of my reverie when I hear someone knocking on the door, I tell him to come in, and I immediately see Edna. "Good morning, my dear, your father is waiting for you for breakfast." "Good morning, Edna, tell him I'll be right there, I'm just going to take a shower and get ready. And I hope you'll have breakfast with us." She smiles awkwardly. "Of course, your father already told me that." "My father knows you're family." - Once again, Edna smiles awkwardly. - I'll be right there, I'll wait for you downstairs - I agree and as soon as she leaves my room, I quickly head to the bathroom to do my morning hygiene. I get out of the shower, dry myself and wrap myself in a towel. I go to my closet which, to be honest, is too big for just one person, and choose a simple outfit that consists of dark dress pants, a white long-sleeved blouse and a dark blazer, and a pair of satin leather high heels. I dry my long blonde hair and tie it in a high, somewhat messy bun, put on some lip gloss, put on my glasses that make my greenish eyes a little less prominent and my black leather bag. I look at myself in the mirror and am pleased with the result; I leave the room with a huge smile on my face and when I get to the breakfast table, I kiss my father on the cheek, wishing him a good morning and he kisses me back. - It seems like someone woke up in a good mood today - he says, referring to the huge smile on my face. My father is a handsome man for his age, at the height of forty-seven, tall, athletic body, since he works out and practices martial arts, white skin, square jaw with a thin beard, greenish eyes, dark hair with some gray tones and a captivating smile; I lost count of how many times I went to some event with him and women fell drooling over him. - Of course, today I'm going to my first job interview, I'm very excited. - I sit at the table and pour myself a coffee. - I'm very proud of you, my princess, I hope everything goes well. - Of course you will; Elisa is a very intelligent woman, they'll definitely hire her - my father murmurs, already drinking his coffee. - I don't want to create too many expectations - I say awkwardly. - Of course you should, you're intelligent, you've studied since you were little and graduated from the best schools and universities in the world, my love; obviously you'll make it. - I smile awkwardly at my father. It's always been like this, he sets too many expectations for everything I do; if I don't get this job.
name is Remi, aka Rogue Angel, and I normally work for a security company testing client systems. But now a shadowy villain has tracked me down and given me an ultimatum. I have to hack Rivera Tech-the largest tech company in the world, owned by billionaire CEO Maverick Rivera. If I do this, I'll get paid and I'll be able to help my adoptive mother. If I don't, my family will be in danger. Hacking Rivera is no walk in the park, and I soon find myself in a tantalizing game of cat and mouse with the big, bad-tempered, sexy Maverick. What I never, ever expected was for him to make me feel safe, or threaten my closely guarded heart, or set every part of me on fire. I can't drag him into my mess. But Maverick has other ideas, and he's not a man who takes no for an answer. ANGEL DEROGUES TO Remi "Oh, you think you can keep me out? Not today." My fingers danced over my keyboard. It glowed, each keystroke barely making a sound. I'd paid a small fortune for the keyboard and laptop. They were my babies. I'd already mapped out the target system. Its cybersecurity was good, but not great. I knew I'd set off some alarm, so they knew I was snooping around. "But no one can stop Rogue Angel." With a grin, I stared at the glowing screen, scanning the code. I tapped a command. Woot. I was in. I shifted my ass in my chair. Time to finish this. I zoomed in on the system, found the file I needed, and made a copy. Time to go. I left my signature image behind-glowing blue angel wings made of computer code. Smiling, I leaned back and flexed my hands. Then I buffed my nails on my shirt and blew on them. I was a hacker, so I kept my nails short and manicured, but I loved painting them. Right now, they were a bright, blinding yellow. Then I opened a new window and made a call. My boss appeared on the screen. I took a second to take in the view-Killian Hawke was worth a second or two of appreciation. The man always made me think of a sharp blade, with precision. He was lean, with an aquiline face, black hair, black eyes. Those eyes were sharp and missed nothing. He wore a black suit, even though it was Sunday-I'd never seen him in anything else. Even on the computer screen, he radiated a predatory danger that made my hindbrain go very, very quiet. "Done," I said. "Check your inbox." The head of Sentinel Security glanced to his left and nodded. "Well done, Remi. Impressive, as always." Damn, the man had the sexiest voice. Like melted hot chocolate with a hint of spice. It didn't quite match his sleek, dangerous persona. "Our client will be very happy," Killian said. "Happy that I hacked them?" Happy that they know their vulnerabilities and how Sentinel Security can help eliminate them. And pay Killian a billion dollars for his work. Sentinel did all sorts of security. I knew Killian had a private army of ex-military badasses, but he also specialized in cybersecurity. I'd been working for Sentinel for several years. Companies hired me to test their systems and improve their security. It was a good business. I used
On her wedding night, Natalie's stepmother set her up to marry Jarvis, a disfigured and disabled man. Fortunately, she managed to escape, but little did she know that later she would fall for the man she was betrothed to.Jarvis pretended to be a poor man, but he didn't think that he'd fall head over heels for this woman.Their life went on until one day, Natalie found out her boyfriend's little secret."Huh? How could you have billions of dollars' worth of assets?" she asked in disbelief.Jarvis didn’t know how to respond.Being met with silence, she gritted her teeth angrily. "They said that you couldn't walk, but as far as I can see, you're strong enough to run a marathon."Still, he remained silent.Natalie continued, "They even said that you only have a few years to live. What about now?"Finally, Jarvis opened his mouth to explain. "Honey, this is all just a misunderstanding. Please calm down. Think about the baby.""Jarvis Braxton!"The man knelt down immediately.
"Love is blind!" Lucinda abandoned her beautiful and comfortable life because of a man. She married him and slaved off for him for three long years. One day, the scales finally fell off her eyes. She realized that all her efforts were in vain. Her husband, Nathaniel still treated her like shit. All he cared about was his lover. "Enough is enough! I quit wasting my years with an ungrateful man!" Lucinda's heart was shattered into many pieces, but she summoned up the courage to ask for a divorce. The news caused a stir online! A filthy rich young woman recently got divorced? She was a good catch! Countless CEOs and handsome young men immediately swarmed to her like bees to honey! Nathaniel couldn't take it anymore. He held a press conference and begged with teary eyes, "I love you, Lucinda. I can't live without you. Please come back to me." Would Lucinda give him a second chance? Read to find out!
For two years, Ashton had poured his heart into his marriage, yet Emalee's heart remained cold. Despite his dedication, Emalee presented him with divorce papers. She bluntly stated she could not remain married to a man whose net worth was less than a million dollars. Ashton signed the papers, closing one chapter of his life and stepping into a new beginning. Then, Ashton revealed his secret identities: a music mogul, a medical expert, and a martial arts master—each persona impressive enough to stun the world. As Ashton’s true capabilities came to light, Emalee was overwhelmed with deep regret.
" Don't say anymore word than you already have, don't..." I stuck a finger out at him, sauntering away on my heels when a hand wrapped itself around my arm. Breathlessly he whispered, "You know that I do love you and...fine, what exactly was I supposed to do?" "Protect me and stand up for me. That is what you do for someone who you claim you love!" ************ Out to spite her ex-boyfriend after he had broken up with her on her birthday, Daphne slept with a stranger who turned out to be his uncle while trying to rebuff his words that she was unwanted by others. Was she ready for the wild chase that followed when he found out years later that she had been pregnant with his heirs and that she had been hiding the truth all this while? Faced with the ruthless CEO, known as the beast, who wasn't ready to back down, Daphne does everything possible to make sure her kids wouldn't be taken from her, but what happens when love gets in the mix of it all? Would she be able to conquer these weird feelings and give in her all amidst her scars? And with how deadly he turned out to be? And faced with her ex who still wants her back, what choice is she going to make?
BOOK 1- BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE BOOK. MATURE THEMES 18+ The book may contain s!xual scenes, sudden instances of possessiveness, mild violence. Sydney Morgan and Gavin Reed, high school sweethearts, had been married for over a decade. Five years of their relationship were filled with unconditional love; however, in the next six years, this changes drastically between them when Sydney takes advice from her best friend, Gavin's first love. When Sydney loses her baby, Gavin is left broken and vulnerable in the hands of his first love. She convinces him to divorce Sydney, and when he does, Sydney loses it and nearly gets hit by a car, but then the talk of the town, Gavin's rival, and CEO's son, hiding behind a facà de, comes to her rescue.
Sheila had her back against the wall when her family tried to force her to marry an awful old man. In a fit of rage, she hired a gigolo to act as her husband. She thought the gigolo needed money and did this for a living. Little did she know that he was nothing like that. One day, he pulled off his mask and revealed himself to be the world's top magnate. This marked the beginning of their love. He showered her with everything she could ever want. They were happy. However, unexpected circumstances soon posed a threat to their love. Would Sheila and her husband make it through the storm? Find out!