Early spring snow on the piano keys
Chapter 1
The diagnosis was clear: three months. That was all I had left.
My phone rang. It was my wife.
"Joseph," she said, "you need to come on the reality show *The Last Journey* with me."
My instinct was to refuse, but she didn’t give me the chance.
"I lost a bet to Stephen. The hundredth one."
"You have to go. And on the final day, we leave the show together."
For three years, Helen had made a hundred bets with me, every single one for the sake of her so-called "savior," Stephen.
She’d lost ninety-nine times.
The cruelest loss was the one that took our child—just seven months along.
"Fine," I said. "I’ll go."
Consider it my final journey with her.
She just didn’t know it would be our last.
***
*The Last Journey* was filming in a small northern town nestled at the foot of a mountain range.
Light snow was falling when we arrived.
Flakes settled on my shoulders, their biting chill sending a dull ache deep into my lungs. I coughed reflexively, covering my mouth with a handkerchief.
When I pulled it away, a stark, vivid red stained the pure white cotton.
Tucking the handkerchief back into my pocket as if nothing had happened, I looked up at Helen walking ahead.
She wore a camel-colored coat, her posture straight and elegant—and just as distant and cold as the landscape around us.
Not once did she glance back, as though I weren’t even there.
The production crew rushed over, all smiles. "Helen! Joseph! Welcome, welcome! Your room’s all ready. You must be tired from the trip—please, rest first."
Helen gave a slight, indifferent nod and walked straight toward the log cabin the crew had arranged.
Pushing the door open, a wave of warm air greeted us.
The room was spacious and cozy, dominated by a large bed covered with a soft wool blanket.
According to the show’s rules, all married couples had to share a room during the trip.
I started to wheel my suitcase inside, but Helen suddenly turned, her gaze icy. "You take the sofa."
I froze.
Her beautiful features were etched with pure disgust, as if sharing a bed with me would be unbearable.
"I made a bet with Stephen," she said. "For this entire trip, you won’t lay a finger on me."
Another bet.
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Chapter 1
The diagnosis was clear: three months. That was all I had left.
My phone rang. It was my wife.
"Joseph," she said, "you need to come on the reality show *The Last Journey* with me."
My instinct was to refuse, but she didn’t give me the chance.
"I lost a bet to Stephen. The hundredth one."
"You have to go. And on the final day, we leave the show together."
For three years, Helen had made a hundred bets with me, every single one for the sake of her so-called "savior," Stephen.
She’d lost ninety-nine times.
The cruelest loss was the one that took our child—just seven months along.
"Fine," I said. "I’ll go."
Consider it my final journey with her.
She just didn’t know it would be our last.
***
*The Last Journey* was filming in a small northern town nestled at the foot of a mountain range.
Light snow was falling when we arrived.
Flakes settled on my shoulders, their biting chill sending a dull ache deep into my lungs. I coughed reflexively, covering my mouth with a handkerchief.
When I pulled it away, a stark, vivid red stained the pure white cotton.
Tucking the handkerchief back into my pocket as if nothing had happened, I looked up at Helen walking ahead.
She wore a camel-colored coat, her posture straight and elegant—and just as distant and cold as the landscape around us.
Not once did she glance back, as though I weren’t even there.
The production crew rushed over, all smiles. "Helen! Joseph! Welcome, welcome! Your room’s all ready. You must be tired from the trip—please, rest first."
Helen gave a slight, indifferent nod and walked straight toward the log cabin the crew had arranged.
Pushing the door open, a wave of warm air greeted us.
The room was spacious and cozy, dominated by a large bed covered with a soft wool blanket.
According to the show’s rules, all married couples had to share a room during the trip.
I started to wheel my suitcase inside, but Helen suddenly turned, her gaze icy. "You take the sofa."
I froze.
Her beautiful features were etched with pure disgust, as if sharing a bed with me would be unbearable.
"I made a bet with Stephen," she said. "For this entire trip, you won’t lay a finger on me."
Another bet.
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9.4
-WARNING - ADULT AND MATURED SCENES WERE DEPICTED IN THIS BOOK SO BE WARNED
*Dual POV:*
In their game of cards, love is not in the stack.
RICHARD WELLINGTON
I promised myself again, “never ever to give a girl or love such power and effect over me.”
SOFIA BLAKE (REED)
“Love is stupid. Love is for fools…” wiping the tears blurring my vision, I finished,
"And indeed love will only hurt".
RICHARD WELLINGTON
Most men have male enemies, but I… I have a long queue of girls who will eagerly stab me for what I did to them.
Truly, I hated seeing a grown-ass man reduced to a cry-baby, all for something as wack as love. And I know for damn sure that this will never ever be me any day, not in the future and most definitely not in another lifetime.
SOFIA BLAKE (REED)
Love ruined my life and it was still doing so. But as much as I dream about leaving this house, I would never do it if it involves love.
RICHARD WELLINGTON
I liked the fact that she understood what we had, or should I say what I kept her for. Many with a promising career like her would find it wrength to be in the service of a man. But I'm not any man, I am Richard fucking Wellington and it's an honor to be in my servitude.
SOFIA BLAKE (REED)
I hated doing this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
Waiting to be saved was something that happened in books and fairytales and my life was either.
*RICHARD'S STORY*
Born with a weak heart, billionaire Richard Wellington has always shielded himself from love, fearing the risk of heartbreak. But when his parents insist he chooses a wife from a selection of 15 high-society candidates, Richard must confront his deepest fears.
*SOFIA BLAKE (REED)'S STORY*
Fashion enthusiast Sofia Blake has been burned by love and believes it's a fool's game. Desperate to escape her cruel stepmother and evil stepsisters, Sofia accepts a job as Richard's personal assistant and judge for his wife search. But as she navigates the treacherous waters of high society, Sofia finds herself drawn to the one man she's supposed to resist.
As Richard and Sofia work together, their initial disdain for each other slowly gives way to a forbidden attraction. But with their past heartaches and fears threatening to tear them apart, can they find a way to heal and open their hearts to each other?
What happens when these two individuals who hate each other and are unreceptive to love, starts growing feelings for each other?
8.0
The afternoon light hit Manhattan like a slap—bright, sharp, unforgiving. I walked Danny home from his Thursday session at the therapy center, his hand warm and loose in mine. He was in a good mood. That meant he was loud. "Josie, look!" He yanked free before I could tighten my grip. "Bird!"
He lunged toward the pigeon on the sidewalk, arm swinging wide, and I heard it before I saw it—a long, ugly scrape of fingernails against metal. My stomach dropped. The scratch ran nearly two feet down the side of a matte-black sports car parked at the curb. Custom paint. No chrome.
7.9
One night. One drink. One wrong turn.
That's all it took to lead Ashley Kingsley straight into the arms of the man who once shattered her life into pieces.
Years later, her ex-husband Dante Montclair, heir to Montclair Group, returns to the country and they end up spending one unforgettable night together.
The next morning, she vows to forget it ever happened.
But Dante has other plans.
When a family crisis puts Ashley in an impossible position, Dante makes her an offer:
he'll save the person she loves most, if she agrees to be his again.
Torn between pride and survival, loyalty and love, Ashley must decide if this second chance is destiny... or the most dangerous mistake of her life.
9.0
The morning light filtered through our bedroom curtains as I blinked awake, my alarm clock still showing 5:17 AM. Our fifth wedding anniversary. I'd been planning this day for weeks. I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Matteo. The sheets on his side were cold—he must have gotten up early for work again. Typical Matteo, always the dedicated businessman. "Happy anniversary to us," I whispered to myself, padding barefoot into our kitchen. I prepared his favorite breakfast—Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, scrambled eggs on the side, and that special blend of coffee he loved. The one that took me three trips to different specialty stores to find. The tailored suit I'd commissioned for him hung perfectly on the closet door—a deep charcoal with subtle silver threading that would catch the light just right.
9.7
After tying the knot in a late-life romance, I found my new husband's daughter eager to get her hands on my luxury car. Naturally, I refused. To my surprise, my usually charming husband, Thaddeus, lashed out at me. "How much longer do you think you have? You're married to me now. When you're gone, won't all of this go to my daughter anyway? What's the harm in giving it to her now?"
"And why do you think I married an older woman like you? It's because you're wealthy!"
I rolled my eyes, feeling as if they might spin all the way back. Fed up, I slapped him across the face. Who did he think he was?
9.2
My husband watched our newborn son die on the cold hospital floor and called it a "relief."
He threw a check for $100,000 at my feet, telling me to disappear so he could marry his mistress.
He thought I was just a poor nobody he could discard like trash.
I lay in a pool of blood, clutching my lifeless baby, while his mistress, Clarabelle, laughed and kicked me.
They had barred the doctors from entering, turning my delivery room into a torture chamber.
Kenton looked at the tiny, still body and sneered.
"He was just baggage, Kaylene. Now I can finally focus on my future with someone who has status."
He believed the lie I had maintained for eight years-that I was an orphan with nothing.
He had no idea that the "startup capital" he used to build his empire came from my trust fund.
Or that the VIP investor he was desperate to impress was actually my father.
Just as they turned to leave, the delivery room doors crashed open.
My father, billionaire Harold Mcneil, stepped in, his eyes burning with a terrifying fury as he saw his daughter broken and bleeding.
Clarabelle' s face went pale as she realized who he was.
I wiped my tears and stood up.
The grieving mother died with her son.
Now, only the heiress remains, and I will burn their world to ash.