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Married To The Wolf: My Ruthless Revenge Novel Cover

Married To The Wolf: My Ruthless Revenge

My fiancé Javen sent me to a yacht in the middle of a New York storm to finalize a high-stakes merger with Alfonse Wolfe, a billionaire rumored to have ice water in his veins. I did it for "us," shivering in a soaked evening gown and cutting my hand on broken glass just to get the signature that would save Javen’s company. But when I rushed back to the Doyle estate, the manor was blazing with lights for an unannounced engagement party. Javen wasn't waiting for me with open arms; he was standing on the dance floor with Blossom Vega, the daughter of his biggest competitor, announcing their union to the elite of New York. When I stepped forward, dripping blood and water onto the marble floor, Javen didn't try to protect me. He looked at me with pure disgust and told the gathered press that I was a "charity case" suffering from mental delusions. His mother laughed while calling me a cockroach, and his father claimed my family’s lost fortune was a hallucination. To ensure my silence, Javen leaned in and whispered that he would pull the plug on my disabled brother’s life-saving medical care if I didn't disappear. I was hauled away by security and locked in a dark storage room like a stain on his perfect evening. I lay there in the dust, unable to process how twelve years of love could be a calculated lie. How could the man I was supposed to marry use my brother’s breath as a bargaining chip after I had just sacrificed everything to save him? I escaped through a second-story window and went straight to the only predator powerful enough to tear the Doyles apart: Alfonse Wolfe. I didn't just ask for sanctuary; I demanded a marriage license to unlock my mother’s secret trust and protect my brother. Standing in a high-security vault as the new Mrs. Wolfe, I discovered a truth that changed the game. I didn’t just have the money to ruin Javen; the deed in my hand proved I now owned the very land beneath Alfonse’s mansion. "I’m not the prey anymore," I whispered, watching the Doyle stock plummet on my phone. "I'm the hunter."
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Chapter 6

Her first stop wasn't the sanatorium. It was a sterile, brightly-lit electronics store. Using the Black Card for the first and perhaps last time on a large, public purchase, she bought a new, untraceable burner phone and the cheapest laptop on display. While the new device charged on the bus, she accessed her cloud backup, a ghost of her old life materializing on the new screen.

Araminta didn't dare use the Black Card for a private car. She took a Greyhound bus to the outskirts of the city, clutching her coat tight around her.

The State Sanatorium smelled of industrial bleach and boiled cabbage. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like trapped flies.

She found Griffin in the common room. He was sitting in the corner, rocking slightly. He was too thin. His collarbones poked against his skin.

Three other patients-rough-looking men-were surrounding him. One of them snatched the apple from Griffin's tray.

"Hey!" Araminta shouted. She dropped her bag and shoved the man. "Back off!"

The man looked at her, then at her clean, expensive coat. He grunted and walked away.

Griffin didn't look up. He was staring at the TV mounted on the wall. It was tuned to a financial news channel.

"Griffin?" She knelt beside him. "It's me."

"I'm a burden," Griffin whispered. He was still staring at the screen. "Javen said I'm a burden."

"No," Araminta said fiercely. She cupped his face. "You are my brother. You are everything."

Griffin pointed a bony finger at the TV. The ticker tape was scrolling red numbers. "They're falling. The red blocks. They have a rhythm."

"You understand that?" Araminta asked.

"The numbers sing," Griffin said, his voice flat but intense. "That shape... the Doyle shape... it's going to break. The line is wrong."

Araminta froze. Griffin had savant syndrome. She knew he was good with math, but this... he was seeing patterns in the chaos of the market.

She stood up and marched to the reception desk. "I need to make a payment for Griffin Donaldson's account," she said, sliding a piece of paper across the counter. On it was an account number and a transfer authorization code Elena had sent to her new phone. A silent, untraceable payment from a ghost account within Wolfe's empire. "I also want to upgrade him to a private room. Immediately."

The receptionist looked bored until she processed the transfer. Her eyes widened at the amount. "Yes, ma'am. Right away."

An hour later, Griffin was in a quiet, clean room with a view of a garden.

"I broke up with Javen," Araminta told him. "It's just us now."

Griffin grabbed her wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong. "Javen is a bad man. He steals numbers."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw his papers once. Before I came here," Griffin said, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. "Lots of zeros. Moving to 'Cayman'. He hides the zeros."

Araminta's heart raced. Griffin had seen the actual evidence of embezzlement. That was why Javen kept him medicated and locked away.

Her new phone buzzed. A text from the bank. Daily limit set on card ending in 4490.

She let out a bitter laugh. Alfonse. He was keeping her on a leash. He gave her the card, but he controlled the flow.

She looked out the window. A bright red convertible pulled up to the front entrance.

Araminta ducked behind the curtain.

Blossom Vega stepped out of the car. She was wearing sunglasses and a scarf, trying to be incognito. She carried a thick manila envelope.

Araminta watched as the Sanatorium Director came out to meet her. Blossom handed him the envelope. They shook hands.

A cold chill went down Araminta's spine.

They weren't just going to cut off funding. They were paying the Director to do something else. To make Griffin disappear? To drug him into silence?

"We have to go," Araminta whispered.

"No," Griffin said. "I want to help. I can watch the numbers."

"We can't stay here," she said. "But I can't take you yet. I don't have a safe house."

She needed documents. Passports. Birth certificates. If they needed to run, they needed their identities.

And those were still in the safe at Doyle Manor.

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