Se connecterFive years ago, Anya Russell lost everything in one night—her love, her freedom, her faith in happy endings. The man she loved, Chase Andrews, disappeared after her father bribed him to leave her, and by the end of her graduation party, she was engaged to Kennedy Davenport, the arrogant heir her father chose for her. Now, Anya is trapped in a cold marriage built on lies and bruises. Kennedy controls her life, her name, even her father’s company, which is crumbling fast. When a mysterious investor arrives to save it, Anya’s world tilts—because the man standing before her isn’t a stranger. He’s Chase. Only now, he’s Orion Nikandros—a powerful Greek billionaire with ice in his veins and revenge in his eyes. His one condition for helping? Anya must work for him. She wants to refuse, but her husband doesn’t give her a choice. Working for Orion brings back everything she’s tried to bury, the love, the pain, the betrayal. He thinks she abandoned him. She thinks he sold her out. But as old sparks reignite, so do old wounds. And between the lies, the power, and the past, Anya must decide if love is worth risking her heart one last time.
Voir plusAnya's POVHot tears started streaming down my face before I could stop them. I'd been trying so hard to hold it together, to be strong, to focus on healing and moving forward. But this—this public humiliation, this complete distortion of the truth—it was too much.I curled up on my side, careful of my ribs, and let myself cry. Deep, gasping sobs that hurt my chest and made my head pound but that I couldn't hold back anymore.Each sob sent a fresh wave of pain through my broken ribs, sharp stabbing sensations that made me want to stop crying, to hold my breath, to do anything to make the physical pain stop. But I couldn't. The emotional pain was so much worse than the physical pain, so overwhelming and all-consuming that the hurt in my ribs barely registered as more than background noise.The tears came in hot, relentless waves, soaking into the expensive pillowcase beneath my cheek. My whole body shook with the force of my crying, trembling so hard that I had to wrap my arms around m
Anya's POVHot tears started streaming down my face before I could stop them. I'd been trying so hard to hold it together, to be strong, to focus on healing and moving forward. But this—this public humiliation, this complete distortion of the truth—it was too much.I curled up on my side, careful of my ribs, and let myself cry. Deep, gasping sobs that hurt my chest and made my head pound but that I couldn't hold back anymore.Each sob sent a fresh wave of pain through my broken ribs, sharp stabbing sensations that made me want to stop crying, to hold my breath, to do anything to make the physical pain stop. But I couldn't. The emotional pain was so much worse than the physical pain, so overwhelming and all-consuming that the hurt in my ribs barely registered as more than background noise.The tears came in hot, relentless waves, soaking into the expensive pillowcase beneath my cheek. My whole body shook with the force of my crying, trembling so hard that I had to wrap my arms around m
Anya's POVThere was a photo of me on the screen—an old one from some charity event I'd attended with Kennedy a couple of years ago. I looked happy in the photo, smiling at the camera in an elegant dress, Kennedy's arm around my waist. It was all a lie, of course. I'd been miserable that night, as I'd been miserable at most events with Kennedy. But I'd learned to smile for the cameras, to play the role of the happy, devoted wife.Next to my photo was one of Orion—a professional headshot that must have been from some business magazine article. He looked powerful and handsome and completely untouchable.The news anchor, a blonde woman with too-bright lipstick and an eager expression, was talking in that breathless, gossipy tone that these entertainment shows always used."...the disgraced heiress Anya Russell-Davenport, daughter of real estate mogul Richard Russell, has reportedly left her husband Kennedy Davenport after a shocking affair with billionaire businessman Orion Konstantinos,
Anya's POVHe gestured toward the door. "Just opposite, across the hall. Close enough that you can call me if you need anything, but far enough to give you privacy. There's an intercom system too—there's a panel by the bed if you need to reach me and don't want to get up."Of course there was an intercom system. Of course this penthouse had every possible amenity and convenience."Thank you," I said again, feeling like the words were inadequate but not knowing what else to say. "Thank you for all of this, Orion. For the room, for bringing me here, for everything. I don't know how I'll ever—""Stop," he said gently but firmly, holding up a hand. "You don't need to keep thanking me, Anya. I want to help you. I *need* to help you. After everything that's happened, after..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "Just let me do this. Please."I nodded, my throat tight with emotion.Then a thought occurred to me—something I'd been wondering about but had been too afraid to ask until now. I b
Anya’s POVThe elevator finally dinged, and the doors slid open. I stepped out first, my heels clicking softly against the carpeted floor, but I could feel Orion right behind me. The air felt thick, almost heavy, like the hallway itself had been holding its breath after everything that had happened
Orion’s POVI stayed where I was, my eyes locked on her without even trying to hide it anymore. I told myself I was just watching to make sure she was okay. That was the excuse. The truth was heavier than that. I couldn’t look away. Not when she was right there. Not when every instinct in me stayed
Orion’s POVI didn’t follow Anya back to the suite.I couldn’t.If I had, I knew I would say something I shouldn’t. Or worse—I would look at her the way I had been looking all evening, like I was forgetting every boundary that existed between us. So instead, I turned away and walked in the opposite
Anya’s POVSoon enough, the business dinner finally came to an end. It didn’t end suddenly. It slowly unraveled, like a thread being pulled loose. Plates were cleared away, glasses emptied, and the loud, serious voices softened into polite laughter and closing remarks. Chairs scraped gently against
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