Zoey 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 more"Do you have any idea the mess you've made?" Marcus stood in the middle of the living room, gesturing wildly the way only a truly exasperated Valentian can. "I had to come up with some ridiculous story about Anthony falling down the stairs to explain the broken nose and the blood all over his face!" Christian, now in a clean dark-blue cotton shirt, wore an impassive expression, though the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his brow told a different story. "Did Joseph believe it?" he asked, ignoring his cousin's dramatic outrage. "Not for a second." Marcus dropped onto the sofa beside Annabelle. "But he pretended to, which might actually be worse. And those two—" he shook his head. "Victoria was literally throwing clothes into her suitcases. They left like the place was on fire." "Good," Christian said, settling into the armchair opposite them, his posture only slightly betraying the ache in his ribs. "That's exactly what I wanted. Them gone as quickly as possible." I perched
The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind us. Christian walked straight into the bathroom, unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt with sharp, impatient movements. I followed him in, still trying to process what had happened in the garden. "Take off your shirt," I said as I stepped into the spacious bathroom, where he had already opened the first aid cabinet. "I need to see how much damage he did." Christian shot me a look that was equal parts exhaustion and stubborn, almost childlike defiance. "I'm fine. Most of this is his blood." "Shirt. Off." My voice was firm. "Now." Something in my tone must have told him I wasn't going to argue about it. With a resigned sigh, he finally stripped the ruined shirt away, revealing a torso that—despite the circumstances—was still hard not to notice. But my attention went immediately to the dark purple bruise spreading across his right ribs. "Just a bruise," he muttered, catching my stare. "And your face." I pointed at the cut above his ey
Christian's voice sliced through the air like a blade. He stood at the entrance to the small hedge maze, and I had never seen such an expression on his face. It wasn't just anger. It was primitive fury, a promise of violence held back by nothing more than a thread of self-control. "Christian." Anthony quickly recovered his composure, straightening his jacket. "Just a friendly chat with your… wife." "Step away from her. Now." Christian advanced a few steps, every muscle visibly taut. "She didn't seem to object until a few seconds ago." Anthony's eyes flicked toward me, malicious glinting in them. "He tried to grab me," I said, my voice trembling slightly from the adrenaline. "He knows about—" "About that interesting arrangement you two have?" Anthony cut in, a cruel smile curling his lips. "Fascinating setup, I must say. Very practical." It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I saw the exact moment Christian's control snapped. It was subtle—a twitch in his jaw, the
The afternoon settled slowly over the Kensington estate, painting the vineyards in shades of gold and orange. After a full day of forced rest with Christian personally supervising my intake of fluids and medicine with almost comical intensity, I finally felt strong enough to leave the bedroom. I walked through the gardens, breathing in the fresh air I'd missed so much. The virus had eased, leaving only a lingering fatigue and a hunger that was finally starting to return after a liquid diet. Christian had insisted on coming with me, but an urgent call from Marcus about the Niharan investors had demanded his attention. "Ten minutes," he promised, kissing my forehead before heading back inside. "Don't go far." The garden was a sophisticated labyrinth of meticulously trimmed hedges and classical statues. Joseph had mentioned it was a replica of a Castorian garden, designed by his own father when the mansion was built. I found a stone bench half-hidden by a tall hedge, the perfect s
The two men stared at each other in a silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. I realized then that I was holding my breath, my fingers gripping the banister with unnecessary force. Finally, a slow, calculated smile spread across Anthony's face. "Crystal clear." He stepped back half a pace, conceding space but not defeat. "I only wonder if Joseph shares this... reordering of priorities." "Why don't you ask me directly?" Joseph's voice rang out from the entry hall, startling all of us. The patriarch stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning on his cane with Carmen at his side. His expression was stern, but his sharp eyes missed nothing of the scene before him. "Grandpa." Anthony recovered quickly from his surprise. "We shouldn't trouble you with operational matters." "This is my house and my company." Joseph began climbing the steps slowly, each one deliberate. "There is nothing that happens here that is 'too much trouble' for me to know." He stopped when he reached us, st
The grand entry hall of the Kensington estate welcomed us with its silent luxury, the marble floors reflecting our figures like discreet mirrors. Christian kept his hand at my back, a gesture of support that had become almost instinctive over the past few hours. "Viral infection," he said, repeating Dr. Mendes's diagnosis as if still processing it. "At least now we know what's been causing the nausea." "Everything's always a virus," I replied with a faint smile, slipping off my shoes to feel the cool marble beneath my feet. "Fever? Virus. Headache? Virus. Zombie apocalypse? Probably just a very aggressive virus." Christian laughed, the sound echoing through the empty hall, filling the space with an unexpected lightness. His face softened into that rare, genuine smile that always caught me off guard—as if, for a moment, all the tension of the past days had simply lifted. "Well, the important thing is that you're going to be fine." He brushed back a strand of hair that had slippe
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