INICIAR SESIÓNBLURB He killed her parents and kicked her out while she was pregnant. He thought he’d destroyed her. On their first anniversary, Ryan Holt didn’t give Gianna a gift—he gave her a death sentence. Broken, homeless, and diagnosed with heart failure, Gianna was ready to die until he stepped in. Sean Cooper, the coldest billionaire in New York, offered her a lifeline. He gave her a new heart and he gave her protection. But everything comes with a price. “I didn’t save you because I care,” Sean whispered, his eyes cold as ice. “I saved you because the heart beating inside your chest belongs to my mother. And I’m keeping it close.” Now, trapped in a contract marriage with a man who loves only her heart, Gianna must survive. But when her ex-husband returns, begging for a second chance, he realizes too late: The woman he broke is gone. And the billionaire’s wife who replaced her is out for blood.
Ver másGIANNAThe vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards sounds like a drill in the silence of the empty house. It jolts me awake. My hand flies to my chest instinctively, checking the machine, checking the wires.Whir. Click.It’s still working, still keeping me alive, barely. I snatch the phone. The screen is cracked, a spiderweb of glass over the glowing light.Dr. Laurel: We have a heart Gi, please come now. Do not wait. My breath hitches. A heart means a chance. A second chance at life, and that means time. More time to live, and more time to rise and kick those who kicked me down.I don't think. I just move, grab my purse, ignoring the dizziness that sways the room like a ship in a storm. I don't have a coat or an umbrella uni, I just have the desperation of a mother fighting for her unborn child.I run out the door and the storm hits me the moment I step off the porch. It isn't just rain; it is a fucking downpour. The wind howls, tearing at my dress, soaking me to the
SEANThe smell of lavender is supposed to be calming. It is supposed to soothe the nerves, to bring peace, to remind me of spring meadows and sunlight. But to me, it smells like death.The scent is thick in the air, pumped through the vents of the private suite on the top floor of Mount Sinai. It chokes me. It masks the antiseptic sting of the hospital, but it cannot mask the underlying stench of decay.I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the New York skyline. From here, the city looks like a circuit board of gold and steel. I own half the buildings in my line of sight. I can crumble companies with a phone call, and I can ruin men’s lives with a signature.I am Sean Cooper, but the press calls me the “God of War”. They say I have ice in my veins and a calculator for a heart. But right now, I am powerless. All the money in the world but I can’t.."Sean." The voice is a whisper, dry like autumn leaves scraping against pavement.I turn. The movement is stiff. My muscl
GIANNAThe dust in the air tastes like abandonment. It coats my tongue, dry and bitter, a flavor that matches the rest of my life. I am sitting on the floor of my parents' old estate, not the manor we lived in, but the dilapidated townhouse on the edge of the city that Dad was meaning to renovate before... well before everything.There is no furniture, just a wooden chair that has seen better days. There’s no heat, it’s just me, a thin blanket I stole from a shelter, and the relentless, mechanical whirring in my chest.Whir. Click. Whir. Click.My artificial heart. The machine that keeps me alive while the man who has my real heart inside his chest lives in a mansion with my cousin.I cough, the sound rattling in the empty room. It has been a week since the anniversary. A week of hell. A week since I watched them bury my mother in a closed casket because the truck left nothing recognizable. A week since I stood over my father in the charity ward, watching a machine breathe for him be
GIANNAThe world outside the window is a kaleidoscope of red and blue lights. They flash against the wet pavement, reflecting off the puddles that are forming rapidly in the sudden downpour. It is raining. The sky is weeping for my mother because I cannot. I’m frozen like a statue carved out of ice and horror.I see the paramedics moving too slowly. Or maybe they’re not moving at all. One of them, a man with broad shoulders and a yellow vest, stands up from the figure lying on the asphalt. He shakes his head and he pulls a white sheet over the body.The sheet turns transparent in the rain, clinging to the small, frail form underneath.Mom."No," the word falls from my lips like a stone. "No. She’s just sleeping. She just fell."A sharp, piercing sound cuts through the fog in my brain. Beep. Beep. Beep.It is coming from my chest. My pacemaker, the device that keeps my broken heart pumping, is sending a warning signal. My pulse is too high. My blood pressure is crashing. The pain is






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