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For five years, I was his shadow and his secret lover, all because of a deathbed promise to his older brother-the man I was supposed to marry. On the day that promise was fulfilled, he told me to plan his engagement party to another woman.
For five years, I was his shadow and his secret lover, all because of a deathbed promise to his older brother-the man I was supposed to marry. On the day that promise was fulfilled, he told me to plan his engagement party to another woman.
For five years, I was his shadow and his secret lover, all because of a deathbed promise to his older brother-the man I was supposed to marry.
On the day that promise was fulfilled, he told me to plan his engagement party to another woman.
Chapter 1
The fifth year was ending. It was the one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-twenty-fifth day since Cayla Bass had made her promise, and the day she had decided to finally break it.
Cayla Bass stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her gaze fixed on the sprawling city lights below. They blurred into a meaningless smear of color.
For five years, she had been not only Grafton Mcleod's shadow-his assistant, his problem solver, the woman who absorbed his rage and cleaned up his messes-but also his lover. A secret kept tucked away in the sterile luxury of his penthouse, a role she played out of a misguided sense of duty.
And it was all because of a promise to a dying man. A man she had truly loved.
The memory still had the power to stop her breath. The sterile smell of the hospital, the insistent beeping of a machine, and the hand of Grafton's older brother, Justen, growing cold in hers.
"Five years, Cayla."His voice was a weak rasp, a ghost of the warm baritone she adored. "Just watch over him for five years. He's reckless, all I have. Promise me."
Justen Palmer. The man who was supposed to be her future, her husband. The only real light in her world, extinguished in a wreck of twisted metal and shattered glass just weeks before he could give his younger brother the Palmer name through adoption.
She had agreed. She would have agreed to anything for him. And in her grief, she had transferred that devotion to the one person he left behind. She had mistaken the weight of her promise for love for Grafton.
A door slammed open behind her.
"Cayla."
Grafton's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. He didn't bother to look at her, his attention locked on the phone pressed to his ear.
"I don't care what it takes,"he snapped into the device. "Get it done."
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the leather sofa. His eyes, no longer cold and dismissive but filled with a familiar, playful cruelty, finally landed on her.
"Did you get it?"
"The acquisition proposal is on your desk,"she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I've highlighted the key risk factors."
"I didn't ask for your analysis,"he said, a smirk playing on his lips. He walked over to the bar, pouring himself a drink. He enjoyed these games, enjoyed the power he held over her. He was convinced she was hopelessly in love with him, a loyal puppy who would never leave his side. "I'm talking about the Hughes merger. Cherrelle and I are getting married. It's important for the company, for our families. So, I need you to be on your best behavior for the next few months. No drama, understand? I know how emotional you can get."
Cherrelle Hughes glided into the room, wrapping her arms around Grafton's neck from behind. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, her eyes, gleaming with triumph, meeting Cayla's over his shoulder.
"Don't be so hard on her, Gray,"Cherrelle cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "She tries her best. It's just... well, you can't expect someone from her background to understand the pressures we're under, can you? Some people are born to lead, others to follow."
Grafton's expression softened as he looked at Cherrelle. He turned, pulling her into his arms. "You're too kind to her."
The scene was a familiar one. A play she had watched on repeat for five years. The arrogant heir, his perfect high-society girlfriend, and the useless, lovesick subordinate.
Cherrelle's perfectly manicured hand reached out, not for a glass, but to run a finger provocatively down the front of Grafton's shirt.
"Oh, honey,"she purred, her eyes never leaving Cayla. She deliberately took a step back, jostling a nearby table and knocking over a glass of red wine. It splashed directly onto Grafton's pristine white shirt. "Look what you did!"she gasped, pointing an accusing finger at Cayla. "You were standing so close, you startled me. This is a custom shirt!"
The accusation hung in the air, absurd and blatant. Cayla hadn't moved a muscle.
Grafton's face darkened. He looked from the stain on his shirt to Cayla, his eyes filled with a familiar, chilling anger.
"Are you blind?"he spat. "Get out of my sight."
Cayla's hands, hidden in the pockets of her simple black dress, clenched into fists. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She thought of the one night, a year ago, when he'd been drunk and vulnerable, whispering that she was the only one who understood him, that maybe, just maybe, they could have something real. It was that single promise, that flicker of hope, that had kept her chained here. A promise he had clearly forgotten, or never meant at all. The small, sharp pain was a welcome distraction. It was real.
She turned without a word and walked towards the door.
"And one more thing,"Grafton's voice stopped her.
She paused, her back to them.
"Cherrelle and I are getting engaged,"he announced, his tone laced with a deliberate cruelty. "The party is next month. I expect you to handle the arrangements. After all, you know how good I am at planning for the future. It's a shame Justen never got the chance to do the same for you, isn't it?"
Each word was a hammer blow.
This was it. The final confirmation. But instead of pain, a strange, profound sense of release washed over her. She had thought, foolishly, that she was in love with Grafton. But in this moment, with his final, cruel jab, the fog of grief and obligation finally cleared. She didn't love him. She had never loved him. She had been clinging to a ghost, trying to fulfill a promise to a dead man by sacrificing herself to his brother.
She was free.
"Congratulations,"she said, her voice shockingly calm. The word tasted not like ash, but like the first breath of clean air after years in a dungeon.
Grafton's smirk faltered. He stared at her back, a flicker of confusion and annoyance in his eyes. This wasn't the reaction he wanted. Where were the tears? The pleading? The heartbreak? He hated this unnerving calm. He opened his mouth to say something else, something sharper, but she was already gone, the door closing softly behind her.
He scowled, turning back to Cherrelle. *Fine,* he thought, pulling the heiress closer. *She's probably just hiding it. She'll go home and cry her eyes out. She's too obsessed with me to ever leave.* He made a mental note to send her one of those ridiculously expensive handbags she could never afford. That always seemed to fix things.
She walked out of the penthouse, her steps even and controlled. She did not run. She did not cry.
Down in the sterile quiet of her own small apartment in the same building, she pulled out her laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her movements precise and automatic.
She wasn't answering emails.
She was registering for the Rourke International Rally. An endurance race. A brutal, dangerous competition on the other side of the world.
She used a name no one had called her in five years. A name that belonged to a different life. The life before the promise.
The confirmation email popped into her inbox. It was irreversible.
She closed the laptop.
The promise was fulfilled. Her sentence was served.
It was time to disappear.
My mate, Alpha Damien, was holding a sacred naming ceremony for his heir. The only problem? He was celebrating a pup he had with Lyra, a rogue he brought into our pack. And I, his true mate, four months pregnant with his actual heir, was the only one not invited. When I confronted her, she clawed her own arm, drew blood, and screamed that I had attacked her. Damien saw her performance and didn't even look at me. He snarled, using his Alpha's Command to force me to leave, the power of our bond twisted into a weapon against me. Later, she attacked me for real, making me fall. As blood bloomed on my dress, threatening our child's life, she tossed her own pup onto a rug and screamed that I had tried to kill him. Damien burst in, saw me bleeding on the floor, and didn't hesitate. He scooped Lyra's screaming pup into his arms and sprinted away to find a healer, leaving me and his true heir to die. But as I lay there, my mother's voice echoed in my mind through our own link. My family's escort was waiting for me just beyond the territory border. He was about to find out that the Omega he threw away was actually the princess of the most powerful pack in the world.
For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world. On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him. But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!" He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds. Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe. The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself. The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most. I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt. I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number. "Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."
For fifteen years, my husband Dustin and I were the fairytale. The high school sweethearts who made it, the tech CEO and his devoted wife. Our life was perfect. Then a text message arrived from an unknown number. It was a picture of his assistant's hand on his thigh in the suit pants I bought him. The texts from his mistress kept coming after that, a relentless barrage of poison. She sent photos of them in our bed and a video of him promising to leave me. She bragged that she was pregnant with his child. He’d come home and kiss me, call me his anchor, all while smelling of her perfume. He was buying her a condo and planning their future while I pretended to have morning sickness from bad scallops. The final straw came on my birthday. She sent a picture of him on one knee, giving her a diamond promise ring. So I didn’t cry. I secretly changed my name to Hope, converted our entire fortune into untraceable bearer bonds, and told a charity to empty our house of everything. The next day, as he headed to the airport for a "business trip" to Paris with her, I flew to Portugal. When he came home, he found an empty mansion, divorce papers, and our wedding rings melted into a single, shapeless lump of gold.
My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage. Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer. An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them? The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind? I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."
My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.
Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley. Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him. That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!" He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law." Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart.
There was only one man in Raegan's heart, and it was Mitchel. In the second year of her marriage to him, she got pregnant. Raegan's joy knew no bounds. But before she could break the news to her husband, he served her divorce papers because he wanted to marry his first love. After an accident, Raegan lay in the pool of her own blood and called out to Mitchel for help. Unfortunately, he left with his first love in his arms. Raegan escaped death by the whiskers. Afterward, she decided to get her life back on track. Her name was everywhere years later. Mitchel became very uncomfortable. For some reason, he began to miss her. His heart ached when he saw her all smiles with another man. He crashed her wedding and fell to his knees while she was at the altar. With bloodshot eyes, he queried, "I thought you said your love for me is unbreakable? How come you are getting married to someone else? Come back to me!"
Camille Lewis was the forgotten daughter, the unloved wife, the woman discarded like yesterday's news. Betrayed by her husband, cast aside by her own family, and left for dead by the sister who stole everything, she vanished without a trace. But the weak, naive Camille died the night her car was forced off that bridge. A year later, she returns as Camille Kane, richer, colder, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined. Armed with wealth, intelligence, and a hunger for vengeance, she is no longer the woman they once trampled on. She is the storm that will tear their world apart. Her ex-husband begs for forgiveness. Her sister's perfect life crumbles. Her parents regret the daughter they cast aside. But Camille didn't come back for apologies, she came back to watch them burn. But as her enemies fall at her feet, one question remains: when the revenge is over, what's left? A mysterious trillionaire Alexander Pierce steps into her path, offering something she thought she lost forever, a future. But can a woman built on ashes learn to love again? She rose from the fire to destroy those who betrayed her. Now, she must decide if she'll rule alone... or let someone melt the ice in her heart.
To most, Verena passed for a small-town clinic doctor; in truth, she worked quiet miracles. Three years after Isaac fell hopelessly for her and kept vigil through lonely nights, a crash left him in a wheelchair and stripped his memory. To keep him alive, Verena married him, only to hear, "I will never love you." She just smiled. "That works out-I'm not in love with you, either." Entangled in doubt, he recoiled from hope, yet her patience held him fast-kneeling to meet his eyes, palm warm on his hair, steadying him-until her glowing smile rekindled feelings he believed gone forever.
For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"
Gabriela learned her boyfriend had been two-timing her and writing her off as a brainless bimbo, so she drowned her heartache in reckless adventure. One sultry blackout night she tumbled into bed with a stranger, then slunk away at dawn, convinced she'd succumbed to a notorious playboy. She prayed she'd never see him again. Yet the man beneath those sheets was actually Wesley, the decisive, ice-cool, unshakeable CEO who signed her paychecks. Assuming her heart was elsewhere, Wesley returned to the office cloaked in calm, but every polite smile masked a dark surge of possessive jealousy.
"You want a divorce?" His voice was ice, sending a chill down her spine. "You'll never get it." For three years, Bellatrix devoted herself to Cillian Laurent-Miami's ruthless tycoon and her indifferent husband-hoping to earn his love. But when she's diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, she realizes the bitter truth: she was never his choice. Just a placeholder for the woman who abandoned him. and has now returned. Determined to reclaim her life, Bellatrix demands a divorce. But the man who once ignored her now refuses to let her go. As buried secrets unravel, she discovers their twisted marriage was never what it seemed. Can she break free from a love that was never hers? Or will his obsession destroy them both?
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