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I was a brilliant scientist, but in my family, I was always the shadow to my perfect, manipulative sister, Jetta. On the day I was set to receive the prestigious Harrison Award, my family was only focused on her graduation party, dismissing my life's work as a mere hobby. That same day, I was brutally attacked in my own lab. The men who did it used Jetta's keycard and sneered that she sent them to "teach me a lesson" and put me in my place. Bleeding out on the cold floor, I made one last desperate call to my fiancé, Hayden. "Stop being so dramatic," he snapped before hanging up. "This is Jetta's big day. Don't you dare ruin it for attention." My mother came downstairs, saw nothing but a mess, and left a voicemail scolding me for being selfish. My soul ripped free from my body, forced to watch them celebrate. I saw the love in Hayden's eyes-not for me, but for Jetta. To them, my death was just another one of my "attention-seeking stunts." Now, as a ghost trapped in my own home, I watch them find my body and slowly piece together their neglect from my journal. But they've overlooked the one thing that will expose it all: the memory pendant around my neck, which recorded every horrifying second of the truth.

AGE GAP • FORBIDDEN ROMANCE • BDSM • MAFIA • ENEMIES TO LOVERS "Acting like a spoiled little girl for attention? Then you will be punished like one." The next slap hurts so badly I can hardly breathe. I whimper as my juice drips down my thighs. Jesus, I'm sick. This man just physically hurt me, and here I am, soaking the sheets. "I'm telling Papà to replace you with an enforcer who actually knows how to do his job," I manage to gasp out. "An enforcer like Damon, who will kiss your ass?" This slap echoes through the room. I swallow back a moan that threatens to escape. "A sexy man who isn't the devil incarnate who gets off on hurting people." He spanks me continuously until my skin goes numb. "Fck, oh God!" I cry out as pain and pleasure collide in an overwhelming rush that leaves me trembling. ~~~ What you just read should never have happened with the off limits Vittoria Giordano. After she was nearly shot, I was hired to protect the engaged heiress till the killer was dealt with. Simple enough, until I met her. A spoiled brat who finds every possible way to push my buttons. She laughs when I scold her, provokes me when I ignore her, and kisses me like she is addicted to the taste of my lips. I shouldn't want her. The last time I let someone in, I was left a shell of a man. Now the threat is gone, and my job is over. I should feel relieved. Instead, every time I see her standing beside her fiancé, pretending to be in love, something inside me ignites and burns. And when the danger resurfaces, I don't return as her bodyguard. I return to claim what is mine.

Velma spent ten years as Dylan's wife, enduring his mother's cruelty and constant reminders that she was barren-an orphan who didn't deserve him. When she finally became pregnant after a decade of trying, everything fell apart. Forced to sign divorce papers, heartbroken and pregnant, Velma disappeared. Five years later, she returned as the world's most famous artist. By her side: Theron, a patient and wealthy man who helped her rebuild her life, and the son Dylan never knew existed. She came back for an art exhibition, but fate forced her to work at Dylan's fashion company. The moment Dylan saw her, everything changed. She was no longer the quiet, broken woman he'd divorced. She was confident, powerful, radiant-and married to another man. Dylan groveled. He begged. He humbled himself in ways he never imagined, willing to do anything to reclaim the wife he'd lost for a second chance. But Velma was no longer the woman who lived in anyone's shadow. Will she forgive the man who broke her heart? Choose the man who rebuilt her? Or rewrite the rules and have them both? Click to find out... This is a why choose when she can have both book.

I was the Thornton Pack's brilliant but "wolfless" assistant, a defect they treated like a charity case. After years of letting the Alpha, Caleb, control me to prove my worth, he publicly humiliated and discarded me for a pure-blooded pack princess. Heartbroken and drunk at a bar, I accidentally bit and marked a terrifying stranger who saved me from two creeps. I woke up to find out I had drunkenly claimed Damien Blackwood—a ruthless billionaire and the apex Lycan King of the werewolf world. To prevent a pack war over the claiming mark, Damien trapped me in a two-year contract marriage, treating me like a convenient political tool. Right after we signed the papers, I got a call from the police. My little brother, Jamison, had been arrested for punching Caleb, who was bragging about ruining my dignity. At the precinct, Caleb sneered at my misery, threatening to destroy my brother's future. Seeing the fresh bite mark on my neck, Jamison exploded in handcuffs, screaming that Damien had blackmailed me into his bed to get him out of jail. I begged Damien to step outside so I could explain this horrific misunderstanding, feeling like I had sold my soul to a cold-blooded predator. But Damien ignored my pleas. He pulled me behind him, his suffocating Lycan aura crushing everyone in the room. "Yes, she was with me last night, because she is my wife." Before anyone could process the shock, his eyes darkened with a terrifying, unhinged possessiveness. "And I didn't marry her to solve a problem. I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years." I stared at his broad back, my blood running cold as I realized I had no idea what kind of monster I had just bound my life to.

I was the supreme architect of reality. Now I'm trapped in a womb with my twin brother Jaden, and he's already trying to kill me. Born with a Void Lord core, Jaden is a gluttonous black hole that started draining my life force before I even had eyelids. Unfortunately for him, my ancient soul came with me. I crushed his consciousness, chained his dark power, and established the only rule that matters: Sister is God. Three years later, he's a whimpering, chocolate-donut-obsessed mess who cries when I threaten to cancel snack time. I've got a demonic shadow bird enforcing my orders and a mother who has no idea her adorable daughter is secretly terrifying. But when assassins hunting my family corner us in the forest, I have to stop playing cute. They see a toddler in pink overalls. I show them what an architect of reality looks like. My twin is a Void Lord destined to consume worlds. He still flinches when I raise an eyebrow. Some hierarchies are eternal.

In our beast world, females are treated as nothing more than precious breeding stock to keep the pack strong. As the pack's best Mender, I spent all my time focusing on my healing herbs, completely ignoring my maturity ritual. But tonight, the blind pack elder grabbed my wrist and delivered a chilling ultimatum. If I don't choose my mates by the next Full Moon, the Council of Elders will force a match and assign them to me. The threat is already suffocating. Arrogant, elite warriors like Caleb Quinn are pacing outside my door like starving wolves, stalking my porch and using pack business to corner me. At home, the reality of multiple mates is even worse. My mother has two mates—my father, the strongest Alpha, and my cold, intellectual step-father. Their toxic, murderous jealousy turns our house into a daily war zone. They literally unleash suffocating killing intent on innocent cubs just for hugging my mother. I am disgusted by this sick, possessive obsession. I refuse to let my life become a battlefield of jealous males fighting over who gets to guard my door, and I absolutely refuse to be forced into a harem by the Elders. So, I made a declaration that shocked my entire family and broke every pack tradition. "I will only ever take one mate." And to make sure none of those predatory warriors can touch me, I set an impossible trap. "Whoever wants me must defeat my father first."

Two families at war. One marriage for peace. Many lies to hide the truth. ​Alessia Moretti did not marry Lucien Valenti because she loved him; she married him to get information. As the daughter of the Moretti leader, she believes the Valentis killed her brother, Enzo. Now, she is living in their home, ready to destroy their business from the inside. ​Lucien Valenti is a man of secrets. He knows his wife is a spy, and he is ready to play her game—until a person from the past returns with a warning: the real enemy is not the husband she lives with, but the father who forced her into the marriage. ​When a stolen file reveals "Project Veil"—a terrible medical plan paid for by her own family—Alessia is forced to work with the man she wanted to kill. From the expensive parties in Manhattan to the dark hallways of secret labs in Italy, Alessia and Lucien must deal with many betrayals. ​In the world of the Syndicate, the truth is more dangerous than a lie. And the truth is: some secrets are better left hidden.

The earth trembled beneath us as we cuddled in the warmth of our cabin. Dean's phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes, and I felt his body tense beside mine. "It's Piper again," he muttered, his eyes scanning the message. The color drained from his face. "There's been an earthquake where she's staying. She's trapped." I placed a protective hand over my swollen belly, feeling our baby kick as if sensing my sudden anxiety. "That's terrible. When rescue teams get there—" "I have to go to her," Dean interrupted, already on his feet, grabbing his jacket. The words didn't register at first. "Go to her?

“I should have refused.” I shook my head, my eyes sweeping towards the silver eyed devil standing before me, with no ounce of guilt or remorse in his eyes. “I should have never married you.” “That hurts my feeling.” That was a cruel joke, because we both know that he doesn’t even have feelings to begin with. “But there isn’t any man who could love you like I do; not even Thorne.” I paused when his long, cold index finger trailed my face stopping at my lips, and his eyes met mine again. They were dark… with lust. “Fuck you.” I muttered with hate and anger dripping in my voice. “I believe even right now, all you want is me.” He mused and he wasn’t wrong, because he never said I couldn’t leave. Yet, I found myself staying, and hoping he would change. “And all that completes me is you.” I shut my eyes as he slammed his lips against mine. *** Eden Montclair is your everyday surgeon who tries to get by every surgery without complications, she has created high hopes for herself that she would inherit her grandmother’s hospital. She soon finds out that the hospital was dying and they might need to merger it with the biggest healthcare foundation in the country, only on the condition that her little sister, Evangeline marries the heir to the foundation. Eden’s life soon falls into chaos when Evangeline ran away to avoid that fate, and now Eden is in the front line to marry the Heir of the Adler Foundation. Theron Adler. A cold-blooded and precise surgeon, who doesn’t have many interests in life, and a diagnosed psychopath. That’s not all, he is also the elder brother of her ex-boyfriend and they both had history together.

The grand pack hall thrummed with anticipation, hundreds of wolves gathered beneath the vaulted timber ceiling. I stood beside Victor on the raised platform, my Luna dress—a deep emerald that once made his eyes soften with pride—now feeling like chains against my skin. The Lycan Council Summit was only three days away, and this was meant to be our moment of triumph. "Brothers and sisters of Silver Creek," Victor's voice boomed across the hall, his Alpha tone making the younger wolves straighten instinctively. "The Summit approaches, where we will finally claim our rightful place among the dominant territories." Applause erupted. I smiled, the expression as practiced as breathing after fifteen years. My hands remained clasped before me, the perfect picture of a supportive Luna. But my wolf stirred uneasily within, sensing something amiss in the way Victor's gaze swept past me to linger on the crowd below. "To commemorate this historic moment," he continued, turning to me with what others might mistake for warmth, "I have a gift for my Luna." My heart, foolish thing that it was, still fluttered with hope. Perhaps the distance between us these past months had been the stress of preparation.

The night before the Duncan Pack was to be taken as tribute, I found Valentin Hart, the Alpha of the Shadow Moon Pack, the man I had once saved. He still remembered me, his obsession evident as he pinned me down, claiming me with a ferocity that lasted seven days and seven nights. I pleaded softly for my pack’s mercy, but he forced a vial of poison down my throat. I gagged, black blood spilling from my lips as he watched with cruel satisfaction. “Even the purest healer can be tainted,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “Now you know what it feels like to be poisoned, just as my pack suffered at your hands.” “If you don’t give me the antidote,” he growled, his alpha tone cutting through the air, “you’ll never leave this place.” He used my pack as leverage, locking me in the shadows of his territory while he took one mate after another. Every night, he dragged me to his chambers, forcing me to watch as he indulged with others, all while making me endure the pain of his claws raking my flesh. He ripped the fur from my back—symbols of my healing heritage—to brew tonics for his mates. When one of them was declared infertile, he sliced open my chest to take the blood that flowed closest to my heart. He claimed he wanted me dead, yet when I teetered on the brink, he tore through the city to find a healer to save me.

I was mated to Alpha Levi Thorne, and we had a son, Logan. Our relationship soured when his intern, Violet, came into the picture. Levi constantly defended her, ignoring my feelings. When I got pregnant, he initially seemed excited but then chose Violet over accompanying me to a healer's appointment. Heartbroken, I had an abortion. After a public confrontation where I demanded to break the mate bond, I faced opposition from Levi and my mother, who was influenced by him. Eventually, I left, started anew in a different pack, and three years later, negotiated the bond - breaking with Levi, determined to live for myself.

At the wedding, a video flashed: Lindsay was kidnapped, dress ripped. Amid the guests' jeers, Tyler, her fiancé, didn't waver, insisting on marrying her. She clung to him as rescue and spent three years devoted. Then she overheard him say, "I married her for a child. That clip? I staged it. Break her dignity and she'll worship you." Her world cracked. The warmth was an act; she was a tool, a mere surrogate to bear his child. Lindsay wiped her tears, sought Tyler's rival, Ashton, and said, "Help me bring him down. Name your price." The gentle wife vanished, replaced by a cold avenger-until Tyler realized she was beyond his reach.

The afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows of Château Marmont's chapel, casting rainbow prisms across my $15,000 Vera Wang gown. Two hundred guests filled the pews behind me, their whispered conversations creating a gentle hum of anticipation. I stood at the altar, my hands trembling slightly as I held Roman's, gazing into his dark eyes that had captivated me for three years. "Do you, Lauren Franklin, take Roman Bishop to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The officiant's voice seemed to echo from a great distance. My heart hammered against my ribs as I opened my mouth to say the words I'd dreamed of saying since Roman first proposed on the beach in Malibu. "I do—" A voice, clear and haunting, cut through the sacred silence like a blade. "I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me..." The melody of Lewis Capaldi's "Someone You Loved" filled the chapel, but it wasn't coming from the hired string quartet. My blood turned to ice as I recognized the voice—Reina Garcia, my childhood friend, rising from the third row like a specter from my past. Gasps rippled through the congregation. Roman's hands went rigid in mine, his eyes widening as he turned toward the sound.

"Benjamin! I swear, I never cheated on you. I am a pure woman. I never let anyone touch me. Please, believe me." Charlotte was on her knees, begging her husband to believe her Innocence. But he only looked at her with anger and disgust in his eyes for her. "Do you think I am a fool? If you didn't cheat? If you are that innocent? How come you are pregnant? Is that the reason why you didn't let me touch you in four months of our marriage?" Benjamin yelled at her, hatred dipped from his eyes for Charlotte. "I don't know anything! But please, believe me. I never cheated on you." Charlotte cried, trembling with fear. "That's it! I can't live with an unfaithful woman. I am divorcing you. Get your ugly face out of my sight and never show me your face again, you slut." Without listening to her pleas, Benjamin slapped the divorce papers. ---------------- Charlotte was full of life. With so many dreams in her eyes, she was looking forward to having a bright future. Until an arrogant man laid his eyes on her. And everything changed in her life. She was forced to marry the man she hated the most. When she thought nothing worse could happen to her, she found out that she was pregnant. But how? She was still a virgin and she never let any man touch her?

Indra Aharon, a young executive who had just graduated from college, never expected that he, who had just been appointed by his father as the number one person in the company, would be involved in a marriage with a woman who was much older than him. In fact, he could rightly call that woman an "Auntie." It started from their meeting at a nightclub. Making their relationship even more chaotic when photos of them sleeping together in a hotel room were spread everywhere. So the parents, require them to get married. Yana Ilone initially strongly rejected the marriage. Because the man she was going to marry was very young. Will the marriage be able to unite the age differences, which are very far between them? Or will they have to separate and choose their own paths?

Elara Fynn always knew her family was wealthy, but wealth came with rules. No one marries outside the family. No one questions the strange rituals that keep their fortune alive. But when a forbidden love ignites with Kael Lunaris, the last thing she expects is to uncover a dark secret: her family are wolves, bound by an ancient ritual that demands more than loyalty, it demands blood. Can she break the cycle without losing herself? Or will the weight of tradition crush her heart forever?

I was bleeding out in the dark, bound to a chair, when I heard my husband tell another woman he would burn the world down for her. Dante Moretti didn't know I was on the other side of the paper-thin wall. He didn't know that ten years ago, I was the girl who saved his life in a frozen cave, not his mistress, Sofia. Sofia had stolen my story, and now she was stealing my life. When I tried to leave him, Dante chained me in his dungeon and whipped me until I passed out, claiming he was "disciplining" his wife. When Sofia used steel cello strings to slice my fingers open, destroying my ability to ever play again, he looked the other way. He even chose to save her over me when we fell into the freezing ocean, leaving me to drown because "Sofia is my soul." That night, I finally stopped fighting for a man who didn't exist. I called my brother, the Don of New York. "The alliance is over," I whispered into the phone. "Take me home." It took Dante three months to uncover the truth. To see the medical records proving I was the one who dragged him from that cave. He burned his own boat to trap us on an island, begging for a second chance. "I can fix this," he pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he touched my scarred, ruined hands. I looked at him, then at the man standing behind him with a rifle—the man who actually loved me. "You can't fix a shattered vase, Dante," I said. Then I watched my new protector pull the trigger.

For five years, I was a ghost in the Spencer Pack, a placeholder wife for an Alpha who couldn't stand the sight of me. I endured the neglect, believing my loyalty would eventually win him over. But at the Moon Ball, when his mistress mocked my disabled mother and I finally stood up for myself, Easton didn't defend me. Instead, he used his Alpha Command to force me to my knees in front of the entire pack. "Submit," he growled, stripping away my dignity. The humiliation didn't end there. He forced me to chauffeur him and his mistress to their romantic getaway. He watched silently as they fed me raw meat like a feral dog. And when his mistress framed me for stealing the Luna necklace, he didn't check the cameras. He looked at me with pure disgust and threw me into the silver cells. He didn't know I was the "Ghost Designer" behind his company's massive success. He didn't know I had lost our child alone on the bathroom floor three years ago while he was on vacation with her. He only saw a wolfless Omega he could use and discard. Standing in that cold cell, the love I held for him finally turned to ash. I realized I wasn't waiting for him to love me; I was waiting for permission to leave. I looked at the man who promised to protect me and spoke the words that would destroy him. "I, Brooke Rollins, reject you, Easton Spencer." As he clutched his chest in agony, the bond snapping like a whip, I walked out of the cell and into the arms of the rival Alpha who saw my true worth.

I lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. My lungs were heavy, filling with fluid as my life ebbed away. Through swollen eyelids, I saw my lover, Clovis, and my stepsister, Alanna, standing over me with looks of pure triumph. "Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered, shoving a phone screen in front of my dying eyes. The headline was a jagged blade to my soul: Caesar Williamson, the "tyrant" husband I had fled from, was dead in a multi-car collision. He had died trying to rescue me, thinking I was in danger. The realization shattered what was left of my heart. The man I had spent years painting as a monster had driven into hell to save me, while the man I thought was my safety was the one who had just crushed my ribs with an iron bar. I had played right into their hands, ruining my reputation and my marriage for a lie. I watched them walk away, leaving me to choke on my own blood in the dark, discarded like a bag of trash. I wanted to scream, to beg the universe for a rewind button, to tell Caesar I was sorry. The darkness pressed down on me, heavier than the betrayal, as my world finally went black. Then, I was screaming. I shot up in bed, gasping for air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. I scrambled at my abdomen—smooth skin, no blood, no tear. I grabbed my phone and saw the date: it was three years ago, the morning of my wedding to the Williamson estate. I didn't waste a second. I scrubbed the "unstable" makeup from my face, threw on a white silk dress, and blocked the man who would eventually kill me. This time, I wasn't running away from the manor. I was going back to the husband I had once feared, ready to save the only man who had ever truly loved me.

I woke up gasping for air, my fingers clawing at a neck that was smooth instead of bruised. The air smelled of lavender and expensive starch, not the metallic tang of blood and the mold of the basement where I had just died. A text flashed on my phone from Derrick, the man I thought was the love of my life: "Good morning, my angel. I can't wait to see you tonight." The heart emoji mocked me, a remnant of a girl who was once stupid, blind, and pathetically in love. In my past life, I was the perfect, submissive fiancée. I didn't realize the "vitamins" Derrick gave me were actually a cocktail of drugs designed to keep me foggy and compliant while he and my own uncle dismantled my father’s company. I stood by him as my parents died in a "car accident" that I now know was a murder he orchestrated. By the time I realized I was married to the devil, he had already stripped me of my wealth, my family, and finally, my breath. I stared at the gold-embossed calendar on the vanity: June 12, 2014. The day of our engagement party. The day I originally signed my life away to a monster who saw me as nothing more than a bank account to be drained. I felt a cold, sharp rage replace the terror. I wasn't going to be the victim this time. I wasn't going to take his pills or wear the modest, pastel dress he chose to make me look like a saint. "I need a match," I whispered to the most dangerous man in the city, Branch Brewer, as I gripped his tie in a hotel hallway. "I want to spend your money until Derrick chokes on it. I want to watch his empire crack." Reborn on the morning of the gala, I’ve traded my white lace for black silk. The guest list is set, the press is waiting, and Derrick thinks he’s about to win it all. He has no idea that the "fragile" girl he murdered is back to burn his world to the ground.

Violet and Vincent’s daughter, Sophie, had been diagnosed with a severe heart condition. Only an organ transplant could save her. Desperate, Vincent brought home his “godsister”—and her son. “Violet,” he explained, “Nancy’s boy was born with a congenital heart defect. He doesn’t have long. She’s agreed to let Charles and Sophie… swap hearts.” “Her only wish is for me to act as Charles’s father—to give him some happiness in his final days.” For her daughter’s sake, Violet agreed to a pretend divorce. Soon after, Vincent held a lavish wedding with his first love, Nancy, and they became the picture of a devoted couple. Not long after that, Sophie and Charles were wheeled into the operating room together. In the end, Sophie didn’t survive the rejection period. Charles, however, miraculously pulled through. Violet had believed it was fate—that she couldn’t blame anyone. Until an anonymous letter arrived, containing all of Sophie’s medical records. Her daughter had never been sick at all! The one who needed the transplant was Charles! Violet’s world shattered. In the end, the divorce was real. It was his love that had been the sham. She needed answers—now. Clutching the medical report, Violet rushed straight to Vincent’s company. On the way, she called her mother, Piper, and told her everything. She expected shared grief and fury, but the other end of the line fell into an unusual silence. “Mom?” Violet asked, confused. “Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice came through, eerily calm: *“Violet, where are you right now?”* Violet should have sensed something wrong, but her mind was chaos. She answered without thinking. *“Don’t do anything rash. Wait right there.”* Violet thought her mother was coming to confront Vincent with her. Trying to calm herself, she went to wait at the designated intersection, just as asked. Her mother never came. Instead, several burly men appeared. They grabbed her, dragged her, shoved her into a car. They locked her in a dark, damp basement. For seven whole days, they tormented her in every way imaginable. The beatings, the denial of food and water—those were the gentler methods. They deliberately deprived her of sleep. Whenever she was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, someone would bring an electric prod and shock her back to agonizing consciousness. The pain was unbearable. If not for the hatred burning inside her, she would never have survived until the day she was rescued. When Vincent finally broke down the door and swept her into his arms, a pathetic flicker of gratitude stirred in Violet’s heart, softening it against her will. She felt the warmth of his embrace, and a flood of memories washed over her. They’d grown up together, from school uniforms to wedding gowns. He knew her likes and dislikes, remembered her favorite foods, was familiar with every private detail. For her, he’d lit up half the city with fireworks, planted an entire estate with tulips, slid a diamond engagement ring onto her finger under the Northern Lights… She had never once imagined he could stop loving her. Could it be… he had some unavoidable, desperate reason? Violet wanted to give Vincent a chance to explain. But her head was splitting with pain, and she was so weak she couldn’t even lift a finger. Though Vincent called her name again and again, she couldn’t muster a response. Then she heard his voice turn cold: “She’s unconscious. Take her to the mental institution now. Get a psychiatric evaluation done in front of the press, then release a statement: kidnapped, suffered irreversible psychological trauma.” In that instant, Violet’s heart nearly stopped. The hand Vincent had placed on her arm suddenly felt like a block of ice. His assistant’s voice chimed in: “Sir, today’s evaluation report is already arranged. But if the… if Mrs Vincent’s mental state is actually fine, and she goes for other tests later, won’t the truth come out?” Vincent replied lightly, “Then continue the electroshock. Use some drug stimulation too. She was pampered since childhood; she couldn’t possibly have that strong a will.” His fingers gradually tightened, pressing into Violet’s wounds: “She’s always been willful, and she cared about Sophie more than anything. Now that she knows the truth about the heart swap, she’ll never let it go.” “I’m doing this to protect Nancy and Charles.” “As long as she’s declared mentally unstable, no one will believe anything she says. No matter what.” “Go inform Violet’s mother as well. Tell her to focus on taking care of Violet these next few days and not contact Nancy’s side. If Violet finds out Nancy is her parents’ real biological daughter, I’m afraid she might take her own life.” Every word from Vincent was a dagger, brutally hammered into Violet’s mind. So that was it! Not only had her lover abandoned her—her own flesh and blood had too! The pain was so intense Violet felt she was going mad. In comparison, the seven days of elect

I came home early because I was happy. That was the simple, stupid truth of it. I had spent the afternoon roughing out sketches for the spring collection—clean lines, asymmetrical draping, a whole series built on the interplay of shadow and light—and they were good. I knew they were good the way you know sometimes, deep in your hands before your brain catches up. I wanted to show Tate. I wanted to see his face. I still wanted that then. The Snyder penthouse was quiet when I stepped off the elevator. The entry hall smelled like cedar and cool air, the way it always did in October. I set my bag down and slipped off my shoes out of habit, the marble cold through my socks.

My elbow brushed against silk as I turned, the contact so light I barely felt it. "Oh my God!" The voice cut through the ambient chatter, sharp and theatrical. "Can you watch where you're going?" I looked up into Celeste Vaughn's perfectly made-up face, her features twisted in exaggerated disgust. The room quieted, attention shifting toward us like predators sensing weakness. "I apologize, miss," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the heat rising to my cheeks. "It's these service people," Celeste announced to her audience, her voice carrying deliberately. "They really should train them better before letting them loose among civilized company." Laughter rippled through her entourage. A blonde in a blue dress touched Celeste's arm sympathetically. "Are you okay? That uniform looks so... synthetic. I hope it didn't leave a mark on your gown." "Look at her," Celeste continued, her eyes never leaving my face as she addressed her friends. "This is what happens when they let just anyone into Manhattan. The cheap shoes, the drugstore makeup..." "People of quality shouldn't have to share space with... well." Celeste gestured vaguely at my entire existence. "This dirty thing probably doesn't even know what the Vaughn Mansion Garden gates look like.” I clenched my fists.