INICIAR SESIÓNI Regret Getting Married to Mom’s Boy CEO Emma Miller, 26, thought marrying Adrian Hartwell, 30, would be the beginning of their happily ever after. She was wrong. Adrian is a powerful CEO, but behind closed doors, his mother, Eleanor, controls every part of his life. After the wedding, Emma discovers that even her marriage is not entirely hers. Eleanor decides where they live, what Emma wears, what she eats, who they visit, and how they should live. Whenever Emma protests, Adrian tells her to be patient because his mother only means well. Emma loves Adrian deeply and fights to save their marriage, believing he will eventually learn to stand on his own. But Eleanor has other plans. She introduces Victoria, the wealthy and sophisticated woman she considers the perfect wife for her son, and slowly pushes Emma out of his life. When Adrian finally chooses his mother's wishes over his wife, Emma's heart breaks. She leaves, determined to rebuild her life without him. Then her biggest secret is exposed. The ordinary woman the Hartwells looked down on is actually the hidden heiress to a powerful and wealthy family. As Adrian's second marriage to Victoria begins to fall apart, he realizes the truth: he didn't lose Emma because she wasn't good enough. He lost her because he never knew how to put his wife before his mother's control. Now Adrian must fight to win Emma back—but this time, love alone won't be enough. He must prove he has finally become his own man.
Ver másThe rain was lukewarm, heavy, and smelled like asphalt.By the time the cab pulled up to my building, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and my clothes were soaked through. I didn't care about the cold. I didn't care about the rain. My mind was pinned to the image of Richard Hartwell’s face in the back of that black SUV, illuminated by the cold blue light of his iPad.When the taxi stopped, the headlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the sidewalk.Four oversized, black trash bags sat slumped against the concrete curb, right beside a puddle of brown, murky water. Next to them was my small duffel bag, already heavy and waterlogged.I stepped out of the cab. My shoes squelched against the wet pavement.I knelt by the trash bags with numb fingers, pulling open the ties of the top one. Inside were my sweaters, my work dresses, my winter coat, all crammed together without care. The bottom of the second bag had split open, and a framed photograph from my college graduation was s
I didn't cancel dinner. I let him pick me up.When I slid into his car at six, the smell of his expensive cologne mixed with the faint scent of leather and rain. He leaned over, his eyes soft, and kissed me on the cheek.“You look exhausted, sweetheart,” he said, his hand lingering on my neck, thumb rubbing a soft, comforting circle against my skin. “Tonight is about us. No phone calls. No business.”I sat there, frozen, feeling his warm thumb on my neck while my skin crawled. Every touch felt like a lie. Every gentle word felt like a drop of poison.The restaurant was a quiet, dimly lit place downtown with white linen tablecloths, soft jazz playing in the background, and waiters in suits who moved like shadows. Adrian had booked a corner booth, private, intimate, surrounded by small tea candles flickering in crystal glass.He took my hand across the table the moment we sat down.“To us,” he said, raising his wine glass with a bright, victorious smile. “To finally leaving the noise be
My thumb hovered over the screen, cold sweat slicking my skin as I scrolled down to page twelve of the digital document.At the very bottom, beneath the heavy legal boilerplate, sat the tiny font of the drafting metadata.*Document Author: R. Hartwell / Legal Counsel.*Richard.My breath hit a wall. His quiet, paper-reading father. The man who had sat at the end of the breakfast table softly telling me not to let Eleanor get to me, pretending to be the gentle, henpecked husband shaking his head in the corner. He hadn't just known about the trap; he had drawn up the blueprint. The entire family was a closed circuit, and every exit led right back into their hands.A quiet ping cut through the silence of my office.*Unknown Number: He isn't the victim, Emma. Neither is his father. Look at who benefits when you finally break.*My mind raced, pieces colliding in a sickening blur. The subtle pushes, the perfectly timed texts right before every major blow, the intimate access to internal boa
I didn't take the sedan. I walked past the iron gates and kept walking until my heels dug red marks into the backs of my ankles, only stopping when a yellow cab finally pulled over on the avenue.By midnight, the silence in my apartment felt loud enough to ring in my ears.I didn't pack a bag. I didn't cry into a pillow. Instead, I sat on the edge of the unmade bed, watching the digital clock on the nightstand flip from 1:14 to 1:15 to 1:16.At 1:42 a.m., key metal scraped against the deadbolt.The door swung open, and Adrian stepped into the foyer. He looked wrecked. His tie was stuffed into his jacket pocket, his dark hair was disheveled, and he smelled faintly of rain and expensive whiskey.He stopped when he saw me sitting there in the dark, my purse still resting on my lap.“Emma,” he breathed, taking a step forward. “Thank God you’re here. I called you ten times.”“I muted my phone,” I said, my voice empty.He closed the distance between us, sinking to his knees on the rug in fr






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