MasukHe betrayed me with my own stepsister. Big mistake. I thought my marriage to James was my forever—a sacred vow built on love and loyalty—until I caught him tangled in our sheets with Mel, the woman I once trusted most. That betrayal shattered my world into a thousand jagged pieces and left me gasping for breath. Broken, humiliated, and cast out, I clung to the only thing left: the secret of a tiny life growing inside me, a miracle after years of heartache. Then Silas Truman, a powerful billionaire, stepped into my shattered world with an offer I couldn’t refuse—a marriage contract promising strength, security, and a chance to rebuild from the ashes. Desperate, I took it. Three years later, I returned not the broken girl I was, but a woman who commands an empire. But life’s cruel twist struck again when Silas lost his memory in an accident, erasing everything we built together. Now, with his empire in my hands, I face James’s shadow and a choice I never expected—between the past that almost destroyed me and a future I never saw coming. The question is, which path will I choose when everything hangs in the balance?
Lihat lebih banyak(Elara's POV)The car died with a sad little cough and a shudder. Just completely gave up. We were still on the canyon road, but further down, pulled over on a narrow gravel shoulder. The cliff wasn’t right next to us anymore, just some scrubby bushes. My heart, which had finally started to slow down, began hammering all over again.“Great,” Peter muttered, slapping the steering wheel. “Just great.”He tried turning the key. Nothing. Not even a click.“I’ll call for another car,” he said, pulling out his phone. He frowned at the screen. “No service. Of course.”I pulled out my own phone. One bar. And my battery was in the red. 5%. A little lightning bolt icon warned me.“I have a little juice,” I said, my voice thin. “I’ll try an Uber or something.”My hands were still shaking. I fumbled with the app. It searched and searched for a signal. The bar disappeared. Then came back. The wheel of death spun on my screen.“Come on,” I whispere
(Elara's POV)The party was too much. The Annual Silver Lake Gala. Just another excuse for rich people to wear expensive clothes and remind each other how rich they were. All noise and shiny teeth and perfume so strong it made my head hurt. I stood by a potted palm tree, holding a glass of bubbles I wasn't drinking. My dress was tight. My feet hurt. I wanted my couch.This was Silas's world. He used to own rooms like this. He'd chat, make a deal, charm someone's wife, all before dessert. Now I was just his stand in, and everyone's eyes kept slipping past me, looking for the real power. Looking for him.I saw them across the crowd. James, Claudia, Mel. Standing together like a perfectly arranged bouquet of poison ivy. My stomach turned. I was about to slip out to the balcony when a voice cut through the buzz right next to me."Well, look who's here. Flying solo tonight, Elara?"I knew that voice. Marcus Thorne. The guy who'd spent ten years t
(Elara's POV)The box was back on the high shelf in the laundry room, next to the lockbox with the poison pills. Two boxes, two different kinds of poison. I stood there staring at them after Silas told me his idea.“You want me to do what?”He was propped up in bed, looking more tired than ever, but his mind was a steel trap. “I want you to talk to him,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re hurt. You’re confused. The lawsuit is scary. You just want to understand. You just have to say something, just to make him believe that you want closure.”“He’ll never believe that.”“He’ll want to believe it,” Silas corrected me softly. “His ego will want to believe you’ve come crawling back because you can’t handle things without a man. It’s the story he’s always told himself about you. So give him the story. Get close. Listen. A man who thinks he’s winning lets his guard down. He says things.”The thought made my skin crawl. To smile at James. To let
(Elara's POV)The little bell on the shop door jingled, a sound too bright for the weight in my chest. I stepped into the smell of cut wood, old paper, and the tang of glue. An old man with kind eyes and green stained fingers looked up from a worktable. He didn't speak, just lifted his chin toward the back of the room where a heavy curtain, dark blue and faded, hung across a doorway.My heels clicked on the scuffed wooden floor. The sound felt too loud. I pushed the curtain aside.The back room was small, a cave lit by a single metal shaded lamp hanging over a big worktable. Tools and frames were everywhere. Mark Brennan stood in the far corner, leaning against a tall filing cabinet. He was so still he seemed part of the shadows. He gave me a slow, almost invisible nod.At the table sat a young woman.She was maybe twenty five. She had dark hair pulled into a messy knot, and she wore a simple gray sweater. Her hands were r












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