/1/101386/coverbig.jpg?v=001018f1dac7595fa704f8d72636f808)
a billionaire heiress to build my boyf
dings, fixed his mistakes, and wa
handed me a box of pistachio macarons and
nking he was b
gotten that I am deat
It was a death sentence
alized he didn't love me. He only
ons in the trash a
ing home
submissive girlfriend,
, the real estate
a microphone and a staged proposal, I made sur
pte
te Murp
nts were the only ones who knew about these secret trips, these attempts at a normal life I yearned for with Derek. My head thr
lued to his ear, his voice a soft, soothing murmur. "It's okay, Hayleigh. I'm coming." Hayleigh, his 'fragile' assistant, who always seem
vaguely hinted at for years. He hung up, finally looking at me, his eyes devoid of con
voice a desperate whisper.
gile she is, Char. I'm the only one who can calm her down." He offered a weak s
ancy box tied with a silk ribbon. "Here. Pistachi
cried. I would have begged. My chest would have collapsed under the weight of it a
utdid yourself." My voice was f
ng his face. "Yeah, your favorite, right
Pistachio. I told him six years ago. The emergency room visit. The anaphylaxis. He' d forgotten all o
. He gave a quick, absent nod, then turned and sprinted toward
felt utterly dead inside. I walked directly to the nearest trash can, a massive metal bin overflowing wit
ses. This was it. The end of

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