
While I was being tortured on a spinning wheel, my husband, Don Percival Tremaine, was introducing his new fiancée to the family. His arm was wrapped around that nurse. “If I were to abandon a woman this good, I wouldn’t be fit to be the Don!” "Liliana? She might as well be dead!" My torturer plunged the knife into me. "One last chance. Are you going to call him or not?" I gritted my teeth. "He doesn't want me anymore. What's the point?" Ten days later, the FBI discovered a woman's badly decomposed body by the lake. And the man who had wished me dead... lost his mind.

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Ivan Vaughn, grew tired of me and took an art student as his mistress. He was completely smitten. On our wedding anniversary weekend, he claimed he had a business trip to Silicon Valley—an excuse to fly her to a Napa Valley winery. That very night, my three-year-old son, Liam, had a severe asthma attack. I called him twenty times. He never answered. I finally found him by breaking down his mistress's apartment door. He was in bed with her, his phone silenced. That night, Liam stopped breathing in my arms. At the funeral, Ivan held me, begging for forgiveness and vowing to put our family back together. For Liam's last wish—"I hope Mommy and Daddy will be together forever"—I agreed. Four years later, an Instagram video from a charity gala went viral. It featured Ivan, a radiant Ingrid Jensen, and their three-year-old son. The boy beamed at the camera, holding up a small trophy. "Look, Mommy, Daddy!" he chirped. "We're the happiest family in the world!"

In the glass towers of London, where empires are not built but acquired, Lucas Whitmore has never met a deal he couldn’t close. Until her. Sophia Sinclair is not a company to be bought or a name to be negotiated, she is the vision behind Sinclair Beauty Co, a brand built on discipline, elegance, and a life she refuses to let anyone restructure for her convenience. When their worlds collide in the polished silence of Mayfair boardrooms, it begins as business. A proposal. A refusal. A second attempt. But some acquisitions were never meant to be simple. Because Lucas Whitmore is used to owning everything he wants. And Sophia Sinclair was never meant to be owned.

After a secret ten-year relationship, he abruptly decided to marry someone else. That day, I went to the R&D lab to surprise him with a new interaction design proposal. But while testing the latest Esther tablet, I saw the lock screen. It was a photo of him on a yacht, a brilliant sunset blazing behind him as he kissed another woman and slid a ring onto her finger. A wide grin spread across his face as he placed a massive yellow diamond on her finger. They were picture-perfect. And the woman in the photo? The new intern I was training, the one who couldn't even remember basic software shortcuts. When I ran to confront her, she tearfully grabbed my wrist, telling me she was actually his fiancée. Our eyes met through the glass partition. Those same blue eyes I once adored now pierced me with a look that commanded my silence. It wasn't until two in the morning that he returned to the penthouse we had made our home, reeking of sea salt and another woman's perfume. He lit a cigar and nonchalantly told me the marriage to the Prescott heiress was just business, insisting that I was his only true home. I caressed the antique fountain pen in my pocket, the one he had promised to fix for me, and forced a smile, saying I understood. What he didn't know was that before dawn, his home was planning on leaving him for good.


A smol unwanted wilo wisp has gotten sent to earth where will he go now?