LOGINHe thought he could use me…but he came begging. Quentin had been cheating on me ever since with multiple women and I knew about it all along, however, I patiently waited for the right time to strike. I served him a gift on his company gala day… a gift that ruined his life. The once tough guy, the strong and nonchalant billionaire, came begging at my feet. When the lines between love, betrayal, power and identity are crossed, the game of survival is left for the fittest. The millionaire question remains if love will be able to triumph above all. Find out more in this amazing novel packed with lots of plot twists and cliffhangers that will always keep you at the edge of your seat.
View MoreThora’s POVI don’t sleep.Not fully.I drift in and out of half-dreams where numbers rearrange themselves into accusations and signatures blur into faces.When my phone vibrates at 6:12 a.m., I’m already awake.Unknown number.I answer immediately.“Ms. Greenwood?” a calm male voice asks.“Yes.”“This is Assistant District Attorney Reynolds.”So it’s official now.My spine straightens instinctively.“I assume this is about December,” I say.A pause.“December,” he repeats carefully. “And before.”Before.The word settles differently.“Can you come in?” he asks. “There’s someone here you need to hear.”The prosecutor’s office smells like paper and coffee and long nights.When I step inside the conference room, Luke is already there.He looks pale.Not surprised.Just bracing.Across the table—A woman I’ve never met.Mid-thirties. Quiet posture. Steady eyes.She doesn’t look dramatic.She looks observant.“Mara Hale,” Reynolds says. “Compliance.”The missing variable.She nods once at
Mara’s POVNo one ever remembers Compliance.They remember executives.They remember board members.They remember courtroom statements and polished speeches.They don’t remember the people who log the numbers.That’s why I’ve survived here for eight years.Quietly.Correcting mistakes.Flagging irregularities.Watching them get closed.The first time I saw December 14th, I thought it was a clerical error.Audit flags don’t close in forty-eight hours without escalation.Not at this level.I reopened it.It closed again within twelve minutes.No comment.No explanation.Just override.That’s when I knew it wasn’t a mistake.It was a decision.I didn’t send the first envelope to be dramatic.I sent it because the courtroom was circling the wrong crime.Offshore accounts are ugly.But they’re survivable.Consulting retention tied to a regulatory board member?That’s rot.And rot spreads.I sit at my kitchen table with my laptop open, watching the news recap from today’s hearing.Quentin P
Quentin’s POVI don’t panic.I calculate.That’s the difference between men who survive storms and men who drown in them.By the time I step into my office the next morning, the skyline is pale and unforgiving. The city looks clean from this height.It always does.My assistant meets me at the door.“You have three missed calls from the Board Chair,” she says.Interesting.“He didn’t leave a message?”“No.”I nod once.“Hold everything for twenty minutes.”She hesitates. “The prosecutor’s office also requested an updated financial breakdown. Expanded range.”Of course they did.“How expanded?”“Backdated to December.”There it is.I don’t react.“You can go.”The door shuts behind her.And the silence changes.December.That date has weight.Not because of the transfer.Because of the agreement.Agreements are not illegal.They are interpretations.And interpretations are survivable.Unless—Unless someone reframes them.I sit at my desk and open the internal security dashboard.No br
Thora’s POVThe courthouse slowly emptied.People leave in clusters... lawyers, journalists, spectators who came for spectacle but got something heavier instead.I didn’t leave immediately.I stay seated.Because something about today didn’t settle.It shifted.There’s a difference.Luke’s testimony fractured something.Quentin’s didn’t defend — it redirected.And that offshore account?That wasn’t the center.It was a decoy.I’ve worked with Quentin long enough to recognize misdirection.He only lets you see what he’s already prepared to lose.By the time I stepped outside, the sky has gone pale and flat.Luke is waiting near the curb.He looks tired in a way that isn’t physical.“You okay?” he asks.“Not yet.”He studies me.“You saw it too, didn’t you?”“Yes.”“That wasn’t everything.”“No.”We stand in silence for a moment.Cars pass. Cameras linger from a distance. The city continues like this isn’t a fault line running under all of it.“I need access to the old internal logs,” I
Thora’s POVBefore anybody informed me, I had the feeling that something had gone wrong.It wasn’t dramatic. No screaming telephone calls or irruption of news. Nothing but a slight chest tightness which I could not get to leave even with the slowest breathing.The morning felt… off.Avis dropped he
Thora’s POVThis call was during my laundry.Something other than dramatic, no sirens, no shrieking. Only when my phone vibrated on the counter of the kitchen, the screen flashed the name of my lawyer.For a second, I didn’t answer.That is what is weird about trauma. Part of you is always preparin
Quentin’s POVQuentin Palmer never threw things.It was the original deception people had made about him that he was angry and loud, sloppy and reckless. It didn’t. Anger sharpened him. It slackened his movements, reduced his vision, divested everything that was not necessary.That is why, when the
Quentin’s POVThe first sign wasn’t the call.It was the silence before it.Quentin spotted it immediately he entered his office, how people were halting their conversation too fast, how eyes were sinking rather than rising with him. Respect was no such word. Fear didn’t either.This was something












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