LOGINZoey Bennett only wanted revenge on her ex. After being humiliated and left at the altar, all she wanted was to walk into that ballroom as an irresistible woman, with the perfect date on her arm. But how on earth did her hired gigolo turn out to be a billionaire? Standing before her was Christian Kensington, the maddeningly arrogant and devastatingly gorgeous CEO of Kensington Winery, one of the richest men in the country. In that moment, Zoey felt the ground slip right out from under her feet. No problem? Oh, there was definitely a problem. The entire internet now believed they were a couple. And the biggest problem of all? So did Christian's grandfather. Now Christian would need to keep up the charade if he wanted to inherit the family business. Zoey just wanted to get out of this mess without being sued. But when the line between lies and reality started to blur, Zoey realized she might be stumbling into the most dangerous trap of all: falling in love again. "I've been left before, Christian. I won't make that mistake again." "Who said this time you'd be the only one to lose?" This is a romantic comedy full of twists, buried secrets, and a passion too irresistible to ignore. Will Zoey find the courage to open her heart again?
View MoreGwen's POV The air outside hit my face like a cold slap when I stepped out of the event building. It wasn't even a cold day, but I was burning from the inside out. Burning with anger. With adrenaline. With the shame of losing control. With a disbelief that made everything feel slightly off balance. I kept my spine straight. Chin up. The same expression I used in meetings with men who thought I should be grateful just to be sitting at the table. Except this time, it wasn't a table. It was a patrol car. "Ms. Kensington, please," the officer repeated. His tone wasn't rude, but it wasn't optional either. I glanced around the parking lot, as if logic might be hiding somewhere between the concrete lines. "This is… serious?" I asked, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. "There has been a report of assault," he replied, professional and detached. "The person who filed the report has visible injuries consistent with that claim. We need to bring you in for questioning."
Renee's POV The bathroom floor was cold enough to remind me I was human. The metallic taste in my mouth didn't help. I blinked slowly, trying to piece together the images that were still flashing behind my eyes. The crack of her hand. The force of her body coming at me. The fury in Gwen Kensington's eyes like she had spent her entire life training for that exact second. I hadn't anticipated that. I had imagined Gwen the way I always imagined women like her. Too polished to sweat. Too refined to bite. The kind who take a hit gracefully and then buy the world's silence with a check. But she had fight in her. And worse than that, it was the kind of fight that humiliates. It wasn't just the physical pain. It was the feeling of being put in my place. Made small. Made disposable. Made pathetic. I clenched my teeth. Pain pulsed up my temple, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and controlled, as if calm could erase what had just happened. No. I wouldn'
Gwen's POV I walked out of the restroom as if nothing had happened. The door closed behind me with a soft, almost polite click, and I made my way down the narrow hallway without looking back, even with the metallic taste of blood lingering at the corner of my mouth. I brushed the back of my hand across it, disguising the motion as if I were fixing a strand of hair. Red. Just a thin streak, but enough to remind me I had crossed a line I had spent my entire life avoiding. I didn't like physical fights. Not because I was weak. Far from it. But because ninety-nine percent of the time, things can be handled with words. Renee was my one percent. She had a sick talent for turning air into a blade. For finding, with surgical precision, the exact pressure point that makes a smart woman lose her intelligence for two seconds. And if someone dragged me into a fight… I wasn't going to lose. That's a skill you develop when you grow up being shoved into lockers by people who t
Gwen's POV The door was locked. The click still echoed in my head like a warning. No one was coming in here by accident. Outside, the muffled noise of the event carried on. Laughter, footsteps, a microphone being tested. In here, I was just a woman trying not to fall apart. Renee, on the other hand, looked far too comfortable. Leaning against the sink with the posture of someone who felt like she owned the place, as if an event restroom were just another extension of her world. I stepped further into the room, making it clear that I wasn't going to back down simply because she fed on retreat. "I know exactly what you want," I began. "And let me save you some time. You're never getting a cent of my money." "Oh…" she said, sounding almost pleased. "That's adorable. The billionaire thinks the center of the universe is her bank account." It might have been funny if it hadn't been so calculated. If she weren't trying to turn me into a caricature. The untouchable rich woman who
Monday morning I got to the office fifteen minutes earlier than usual. But Gwen was already there, sitting at her desk with a steaming cup of coffee and a pile of documents spread out in front of her. She looked up when I walked in, studying me with that curious expression I knew all too well. "Go
"Next," I muttered, swiping to reject yet another profile. "Michael, thirty-four, lawyer. First photo, fine, suit, professional smile. Second photo, he's holding a dead fish the size of a toddler. Why do men think fishing is attractive?" "Maybe because it shows hunting and provider skills?" Gwen o
Saturday mornings in London had a kind of magic. The frantic pace of the week softened into something calmer. People wandered the streets without rushing, couples sipped coffee at sidewalk tables despite the cold, and the whole city felt like it had nowhere urgent to be. I decided it was the perfe
I'd just started to relax again, lulled by Nathaniel's calm voice and the easy rhythm of our conversation, when the plane suddenly jolted harder than before. My stomach dropped as if we'd fallen several hundred meters in an instant. Whatever false sense of security I'd built evaporated immediately.






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