Beauty was the Ashford family law, and Freya Sinclair was beauty come to life—until an accident stole that title from her. Sold to the Ashfords for a bag of chips, Freya was forced into a marriage with their heir, Alexander Ashford, on her 18th birthday. Unloved and unwanted because of a scar, she endured years of rejection. Determined to reclaim her life, Freya takes a stand, only to be cast out by the family that never wanted her. Homeless and disowned, she crosses paths with Sylus Thorn, a world-renowned fashion designer and enigmatic billionaire. Just when Freya believes she can start over, Alexander comes back to claim the wife he once discarded. “Do you have anything to say regarding your stepsisters’ affair with your husband?” Just when I thought I had no choice but to respond, a strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me out of the crowd. Startled, I looked up to see a tall, muscular man guiding me away with ease, his presence shielding me from the cameras and the reporters’ relentless questions. We reached a black car parked at the edge of the lot, and relief flooded through me. “Mr. Thorn,” I whispered, recognizing his familiar face. “Get in,” Sylus commanded, his voice calm but firm. Without hesitation, I climbed into the car, my heart racing from more than just the escape. Will Freya save her marriage to Alexander, or will she be swept off her feet by the mysterious Sylus Thorn? Join the MLCM Readers https://discord.gg/gEq2mCr574
I opened my mouth, intending to decline—knowing well those fabrics would be absurdly out of my reach. But then, I remembered: they thought I was an official Ashford. Perhaps it was time to use that assumption to my advantage.
Closing my mouth, I nodded with the calm authority I imagined an Ashford would exude. "Bring them out," I said simply.
Roderick's eyes glimmered with a renewed eagerness. He called over a few of his boys, who scrambled to bring out the limited stock. Moments later, they returned, bearing fabric stacks that seemed to glow with luxury.
As each fabric was unveiled, I couldn't contain my reaction. A gasp slipped from my lips, followed by another as they revealed fabric after fabric, more stunning than the last. My fingers reached out instinctively, brushing against each piece as if I needed physical proof of their existence. The touch of each weave sent a thrill through me as I realized the rarity of what lay before me.