Shi Yue

Five years ago, my fiancé and my adopted sister framed me, took my family trust, and cut my car's brake lines, leaving me with a shattered body in the freezing rain. Now, struggling as a stunt double to fund my revenge, I risked my life to save a billionaire's trapped son from a locked room. But instead of gratitude, I became the billionaire's prey. Jaidyn Miles, the apex predator of Wall Street, investigated my crippling debts and threw a five-million-dollar contract in my face. "You possess the single most valuable asset in this transaction. Your face." He demanded I dye my hair jet black, wear specific white dresses, and use a bespoke perfume. He wanted me to be the living, breathing doll of his dead wife. I refused to be a billionaire's prop and walked away. But Jaidyn immediately bought the entire movie studio where I had just bled for a life-changing role, threatening to destroy hundreds of jobs and my only chance at a career if I didn't submit. Why was I always just a tool to these wealthy, arrogant men? First a placeholder for a family trust, now a ghost for a dead woman? I grabbed his contract and a pen, my eyes cold. I wouldn't be broken again. "Three months, and you don't interfere with my shooting schedule." I signed my name. I would take his five million, and I would use it to bury the people who ruined my life five years ago.

To settle her family's debt, Alys Flores is sold into a proxy marriage with the city's most infamous recluse, the wheelchair-bound Gustaf Greer. It's a union of the broken and the discarded. Or so it seems. She's not broken; she's a ghost. A hacker known as "Zero" who uses her silence as a shield while she plots the destruction of those who wronged her. He's not discarded; he's a king. A powerful CEO faking his disability to hunt a traitor who tried to kill him. In a world of secrets, their marriage is the biggest one of all. And when their separate paths of revenge lead them to the same enemy, they'll have to trust the one person they can't afford to believe.

Kinsley worked a grueling, low-paying job at a mediocre ad agency just to pay off her late father's crushing medical debts. But her quiet survival shattered when billionaire heir Julian Montgomery unexpectedly walked into a corporate dinner. Three years ago, they had a past, and he still believed she was a cheap gold digger who played him for a quick payout. Now, he cornered her. He used his immense power to force her into a direct liaison role for his company's new campaign, trapping her under his absolute control. Her colleagues immediately turned on her. Her boss mocked her "blue-collar" background, and jealous coworkers spread vicious rumors that she was offering "special services" to the billionaire. Kinsley swallowed the humiliation, terrified Julian would discover the real reason she abandoned her lucrative Wall Street future to sit by her dying father's hospital bed. She didn't understand why he was relentlessly tormenting her now. Was her trauma just a puzzle for a bored billionaire to solve for entertainment? Pushed to the absolute breaking point by her colleagues' relentless bullying, Kinsley finally slapped a heavy parchment document onto the conference table. "I speak the language of Wall Street fluently." As her bullies stared in pale horror at her summa cum laude Finance degree from Wharton, Julian received the background report across the city. His "gold digger" illusion was completely shattered, igniting a dark, dangerous obsession to uncover her every secret.

I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York. To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen. But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table. It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test. "Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture." I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking. He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago. He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy. He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go. He was wrong. I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don. And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy. I wanted to erase him. I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built. Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa." It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul. On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial. When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth. He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife. Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

At the project kickoff party, Isabelle casually mocked the new capital representative, calling him a suit with a trust fund. A low, magnetic voice spoke from the shadows right behind her. It was Bennett Lloyd, the man holding the purse strings for the entire project. But as Isabelle turned around, her blood ran cold. He wasn't just her new boss. He was the stranger she had a desperate one-night stand with five years ago. The man she had fled from before dawn, leaving only a fake name. In her panic to escape him, Isabelle tripped on the marble stairs and left behind a single, custom-made diamond heel. Bennett found it, but instead of exposing her, he began a terrifying game of cat and mouse. He forced her to be his exclusive on-site consultant, vetoed her vacation time, and isolated her from her team. He trapped her in his office, his touches lingering just enough to remind her of that night, slowly suffocating her professional life as payback. Pushed to the brink of a breakdown by his relentless torment, Isabelle sat in a hotel bar, drowning her panic in vodka. She pulled out her phone, intending to send a voice memo to her best friend to confess the suffocating guilt she had hidden for years. "I can't do this anymore. I'm a sinner. I killed her... I killed my mother." She hit send, only to realize her screen didn't show her friend's name. The confession had gone straight to Bennett Lloyd.

I spent five years as the perfect wife to Easton Harrington, smoothing his midnight-blue ties and fading into the wallpaper of his massive estate. I thought I was the heart of our family, but I was really just a ghost in a sensible beige dress. The illusion shattered at a charity gala when Easton’s "family friend," Georgina, appeared in a gown that matched his suit perfectly. While they basked in the flashbulbs as a golden couple, I was literally pushed into the velvet ropes by a cameraman. No one noticed. Then my four-year-old son, Holt, slapped my hand away in front of the city's elite. "Don't touch me! You're not my mom, you're just the nanny. Daddy said so." The room went silent, but Easton didn't defend me. He just looked annoyed that I was causing a scene, making a sharp shooing motion for me to take the boy away. Beside him, Georgina feigned shock while her eyes crinkled in pure amusement. I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a placeholder. They had stripped me of my dignity and even my child's love, treating my five years of devotion like a temporary staff position. I didn't scream. I just slid off the Harrington heirloom ring, tossed it into a fountain, and walked out into the night. Easton thinks I’m a penniless housewife who won’t last a week without his credit cards. He doesn't know that I’m Dr. Althea Morrison, the "prodigy" researcher his company has been begging to hire. I'm not asking for alimony, and I'm not begging for a second chance. I’m returning to the lab to build an empire that will bring his to its knees.

For five years, New York society envied me, Ava Riley, the perfectly devoted wife to tech titan Liam Carter. Though legally blind, I felt his love in every touch, every whispered word, convinced I was the luckiest woman alive. But one night, a searing pain shot through my head, a shocking kaleidoscope of color exploded behind my eyelids, and then-I could see. My vision, blurry but real, focused on the bed. It wasn't Liam on top of me. It was a faceless, flawless robot, moving with the practiced intimacy I believed belonged to my husband. Then I saw Liam across the room, wrapped around a perfect, lifelike doll-his adopted sister, Sophia. Every intimate moment of our five-year marriage, every cherished touch, had been a vile, mechanical lie. The truth crashed down: I was just a blind prop in his twisted obsession, a placeholder for the woman he truly desired. When I confronted this horrifying reality, Sophia pushed me down the stairs, and I lost our baby. But Liam' s concern wasn't for me. He protected Sophia, dismissing my pain, our child, and even me, as collateral damage, painting me as an "emotionally unstable liar" to cover their tracks. How could the man I loved betray me so utterly? How could my own sacrifice have led to such a depraved deception? My heart didn't just break; it became a cold, hard stone of disbelief and fury. Lying in that hospital bed, rage burning through my soul, I ripped up Liam' s seven-figure "hush money" check, looked Sophia directly in her astonished eyes, and declared, "I' m divorcing him. And I' m not going quietly. I' m going to take everything."

I sacrificed everything for Michael Thorne, the ambitious man I loved and believed in. My promising career, built on integrity, crumbled when I took the fall for his unethical land deal, my name tarnished, my reputation destroyed. The immense stress manifested as psychosomatic blindness, transforming my vibrant world into an indistinct haze, making me completely dependent on him. He vowed to be my eyes, a low murmur of reassurance, his control a heavy cloak I mistook for devotion, as he built his real estate empire on the ruins of my life. For years, I was a captive in our luxurious city apartment, a gilded cage arranged for my impaired convenience, subtly controlled by the man who claimed to protect me. But then, a miracle: my vision, slowly, painstakingly, began to return, a fragile hope I nurtured in secret. Eager to surprise him, I cut my therapy retreat short, only to silently unlock our door and find him in bed with his conniving junior associate, Tiffany. My newly restored sight, cruelly perfect, illuminated the stark, undeniable intimacy, a betrayal that stole my breath and shattered my soul. The man who vowed to be my eyes, the one I had given everything for, had been reveling in my dependence, enjoying the power of my blindness as he carried on his affair right under my nose. The shock morphed into a cold, unwavering resolve; my heart, once broken, hardened into stone. I would pretend I was still blind, still naive, enduring their thinly veiled cruelty and arrogant entitlement. But as I stumbled, feigning helplessness, I would meticulously gather every piece of damning evidence. I swore to reclaim my life, my heritage, and my true self, leaving him to face the very ruin he built for me. He thought he had absolute power over his blind, docile wife, but he was about to discover what a woman with nothing left to lose, and everything to see, could truly do.

I woke up to a familiar, cheap motel ceiling. Today was the day Chloe and I were supposed to elope. But this wasn' t just any morning. I'd lived this day before. Ten years ago, on this exact date, Chloe died saving me in a fatal car crash. Now, I'm back, haunted by a chilling ultimatum: "Thirty-six hours. Three deepest regrets. Fix them, or she stays dead." The weight of a future where Chloe was miserable, her dreams crushed, hangs heavy. I watch her vibrant, younger self, unaware of the gilded cage her life will become. Her dismissive words cut, knowing the simmering unhappiness beneath them. She' s walking blindly into a future controlled by her parents and a manipulative lover. How can I save her from a fate she doesn't know exists? How do I dismantle her family' s plans and expose the man she thinks she loves, without destroying her trust? My undying love for her, once a quiet ache, is now an impossible race against a ticking clock. Can I truly rewrite her destiny and allow her to become the person she was meant to be? Armed with foreknowledge and a broken heart, I embark on a desperate pilgrimage of selfless acts. I'm not trying to win her love. I'm fighting to set her free, even if it costs me everything.

My Sweet Sixteen was supposed to be a dream. I was Scarlett, a golden child, engaged to my childhood sweetheart Julian, and protected by my powerful brother Ethan. Our lives were perfectly aligned, part of an influential dynasty. But then, a science experiment gone wrong left me disfigured and screaming. The intern, Brianna, who caused it, seemed to vanish, destined for jail. My brother and fiancé swore revenge, their initial protectiveness a comforting blanket. Yet, strange, mocking voices whispered in my head: "They're impressed by her. They'll fall for her. Hard." Soon, Brianna was "sick," and Ethan and Julian abandoned my hospital bedside to rush to hers. My calls went to voicemail, my care diminished, and then I was framed for attacking her. Julian dissolved our engagement, calling me unstable. I was banished to a forgotten wing, then a rundown halfway house, forced into grueling labor. The lowest point came when they held me under icy water, demanding an apology for a crime I didn't commit. Why abandon me, their Scarlett, for this woman who ruined my life? Was I just an inconvenience, a damaged relic of a past they wanted to forget? The voices in my head revealed the shocking truth: "It was a diversion. You were a pawn. Everything – your suffering – was a strategic move." My pain wasn't about love or betrayal; it was a cold, calculated sacrifice for power. With this sickening clarity, I refused their hollow apologies and offers to "restore" my life. I walked away from their gilded cage, leaving my old self and their lies behind. Now, free from their toxic influence, I begin a new chapter, far from the corrupt city, ready to redefine my own destiny.

The lawyer’s pen clicked, signaling the finality of my parents' second divorce, but for me, Emilia, it was just the eerie echo of a past life that had ended with my younger sister, Sophia, stabbing me seven times, and a brutal existence under the ruthless Isabella Vanderbilt. This time, I had to escape Isabella's grasp, so I deliberately plunged down the stairs, disfiguring myself, knowing Isabella would never accept "damaged goods" as an heir. My father, Richard, confirmed my desperate gamble: "Isabella will never accept damaged goods!" I stayed with my kind mother, Linda, and we built a new, humble life away from that toxic world. But then Sophia, now a condescending teenager, reappeared, flaunting her new life with Isabella, subtly reminding me of my "missed potential." The façade of peace shattered when Sophia sent literal thugs to abduct me, twisting my mother’s arm and breaking it right before my eyes. My mom, Linda, screamed in agony, her broken arm a visceral pain that ripped through me. As I was dragged into a black SUV, the metallic taste of terror filled my mouth, utterly desperate and confused. Why would my own sister go so far, inflicting such harm on our own mother? Amidst the chaos, hidden from Sophia’s triumphant gaze, I fumbled for my emergency phone. I dialed a number I had only memorized in secret, a last resort: the private line of my estranged grandmother, Eleanor Ainsworth, a name that commanded respect even in the darkest corners of New York society. This time, everything would be different.

For many years now, Carolyn had been having the same wild dream of intense, passionate moments with a strange man. Everything about the dreams was as vivid as real life, though she could never recall the stranger’s face. To be clear, she had no memory whatsoever of that one day seven years ago. And so it remained…until Derrick appeared. Now the key to unlocking this lost memory seemed to have finally emerged. Would the secrets buried deep within her mind be revealed? When the truth emerges, would it change her normal life for good?

Darcey became a surrogate mother for her sister and slept with Bain, a business tycoon with the best resources in the world. She didn't expect that her sister would ask her for help again five years later. She knew well that giving birth to his child was only a trick her sister used to be with him. Being threatened, she came to his room in dark. He didn't like to be touched by women, but she was different. He wanted her, driven by desire.

For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett. Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid. When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives. "Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself." I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together. Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company. He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life. He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire. I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer. "Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant."

For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties. But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom. Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years. "You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic." My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support. They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets. I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life. But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree. Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate. When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block.

Rain lashed against the twisted metal as Hallie lay pinned in the wreckage of her car, her chest crushed and fading fast. The paramedic found her phone and desperately dialed her husband, Aidan. "Your wife has been in a severe car crash! We're losing her!" the paramedic shouted over the storm. A harsh, mocking laugh came through the speaker. "Tell her this is a pathetic way to stop the divorce," Aidan sneered. "I do not have time for her crazy games." The line went dead, and Hallie's heart flatlined. Separated from her body, Hallie's ghost was forced to witness the horrific aftermath of her own death. Her mother refused to claim her corpse because there was no insurance payout, telling the hospital to throw her in a ditch. Pulled back to her penthouse, she found Aidan gently holding her sister, Cecile. Cecile sobbed about Hallie's "fake crash" in Aidan's arms, but the moment he looked away, a wicked smirk of victory spread across her face. Cecile was the predator, and Aidan was her willing protector. He even ordered Hallie's brilliant, life's-work sketchbook to be thrown into an industrial shredder, giving all her corporate resources to fund Cecile's debut. Hovering in the cold air, Hallie watched her three years of devotion turn to ash. She was treated like garbage, a mere stepping stone for her sister's rise. But just as her soul turned to ice, Aidan's face suddenly grew paranoid. "Check her medical records," Aidan ordered his assistant coldly. "Find out who is helping her fake this injury." Hallie's invisible spirit shivered with a dark, vengeful anticipation. What would her arrogant husband do when his relentless digging finally uncovered her cold, dead body?

"I've warned you from the beginning. Don't marry him, but you won't listen." Darcy stood close to me and smiled with concern. "You're not a woman worthy of a man as handsome, rich, smart, and virile as Blaze." My whole body trembled at her words. "Have you no shame?" I asked. "Take a good look at yourself, Heather." She stared at me in the mirror. "You can't even glance at your ugly face. Do you think Blaze can endure a lifetime of gazing at that scar?" Heather Bailey got a surprise from her husband: a divorce agreement. After a year of marriage and facing ups and downs, she couldn't believe Blaze intended to divorce her. She was devastated when she saw him gazing lovingly at another woman. After signing the divorce papers, shockwaves caught her up. Her flower shop was burned to the ground. Her father's company collapsed, and her parents blamed her. She struggled to rebuild her life from the ground up and became more successful than ever. Having many customers from influential families, she started her revenge on Blaze. She won the very thing he wanted, but that was just the beginning.

To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. "Call her Aunt."

I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart. But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage. When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway. He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop. At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me. They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond. When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue. "Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?" He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests. Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died. To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival. It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground.

Keely returned to her Manhattan penthouse a day early, expecting the loving billionaire husband who had just told her how much he missed her. Instead, the scent of cheap vanilla perfume led her to the guest room, where she found Haden tangled in the sheets with his timid, soft-spoken secretary. To the world, Haden was the flawless, devoted partner. He would even beat a man to a bloody pulp at a high-society gala just for insulting her, violently claiming he was protecting his wife. But behind his golden-retriever facade lay a narcissistic monster. While begging for her affection and making her breakfast, he was secretly draining their marital assets into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. Keely had to swallow her disgust, forcing a perfect smile as she played the clueless, dependent trophy wife he wanted her to be. It made her physically sick. She couldn't understand how the man who looked into the camera with eyes full of love just last night could be the same thief plotting to leave her with nothing. Was his violent, suffocating obsession with her just a sick cover for his betrayal? But Haden didn't know his "helpless" wife was actually the ruthless CTO of a tech empire. She had already hacked the home surveillance and traced the missing funds, ready to make him bleed. Then, her private investigator called with a medical report that pushed her revenge to the edge. "Mrs. Jones, Darlene Sutton is six weeks pregnant."

On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call. He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar. In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave. But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund. They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime. I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets. Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess. The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow. Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door. This time, I didn't shed a single tear. I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street. "The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."

The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."

I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend. On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card. He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls. I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him. My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!" But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly. Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go. Not for the money, but to ask him to his face- Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me?