A fake engagement. A dying billionaire. A truth that could destroy them both. Eva Monroe is drowning in debt, desperate to save her ailing brother from loan sharks and hospital bills. When she’s offered a life-changing deal—to pose as the fiancée of terminally ill billionaire Cassian Vale—she takes it without asking questions. It was supposed to be temporary. A lie. Until he lives. The treatment works. Cassian survives. And now he wants Eva by his side—for real. To the world, they’re a power couple. To Cassian, she’s the only person who ever saw him as a man, not a wallet. But Eva is hiding more than just her heart. She’s not just a waitress. She’s the daughter of the man who tried to expose Cassian’s corrupt company—and paid with his life. Now the same empire that saved Cassian is hunting her. When the truth explodes, Cassian must choose: Protect the woman who lied to him… Or save the legacy that nearly killed him. One built an empire of lies. The other holds the truth that could burn it all down. And love? It may not survive either. ---
View More"Eva Monroe's Point Of View'' Cassian began the risky treatment.I stayed—not because I trusted him, but because I couldn’t walk away.I told myself I was just dropping off the file. Just checking vitals. Nothing more.The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air as I paced nervously in the hallway outside the treatment room. Each footstep echoed against the tiles—crisp and restless, like a metronome ticking down to a moment I dreaded facing.It was honestly a bit pathetic, really.How fast I moved when his body gave out.In an instant, I was right there by his side, supporting his weight, hitting the emergency button, and shouting for help.Cassian was now lying there, connected to a jumble of machines.Still. Small. Too quiet.But the illusion of vulnerability didn’t last. His eyes opened—steady and alert. Like he’d been waiting for me.Choosing pain.Choosing a treatment that had killed three of the last five patients who tried it.They came fast. Nurses. Machines. Needles.Panic
" Eva Monroe's Point Of View'' I didn't sleep. Not really. I shut my eyes, but my thoughts just wouldn’t quiet down. Ever since that night on the balcony. Cassian hasn’t said a single word. I can still remember the way he looked me in the eye and told me how his father used to bury bodies where the roses grew the thickest.He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t flinched. “Just said it like a man reading a will no one asked to hear.”And now we are here.The silence in the penthouse was so thick, it felt like it could wrap around me. I moved through it like I was wading through fog, each step dragging me down a little more. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to bounce around in my head, amplifying the stillness.Cassian was still slumped in the same armchair he’d collapsed into hours earlier. The blinds were drawn. No TV, no drink in hand. Just stillness. It felt like he was stuck in time, while I was the only one still alive and breathing.I stood by the kitchen island, keeping my distance
(First Person – Eva)The room was too quiet. Too neat. It felt as if no one had set foot in this place for years. The shelves were packed with dusty old books, the fireplace hadn’t seen a flame in months, and that heavy silence hung in the air—thick and stifling, the kind you only encounter in spaces weighed down by memories.Cassian didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there, gazing out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He was so stiff, so composed—just like he always was when something was bothering him, and he didn’t want me to notice.I lingered in the doorway, feeling uncertain about my presence there. But he had asked me to follow him. He’d said, “You wanted answers. So don’t flinch now.”I didn’t.“I hate this house,” he said suddenly. The words dropped like stones.I stepped inside. “Then why live here?”“Because the devil left it to me,” he said. “And I’m not sure if letting it rot would be better… or worse.”He turned then. His eyes met mine—dark, but not
"Eva Monroe's Point Of View'' The tray wobbled a bit in my hands as I made my way down the marble corridor. It felt silly—totally unnecessary, really—but I hadn’t summoned anyone this time.The new kitchen girl couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She had nervous hands and twitchy eyes and flinched at every little creak of a door. I found her in tears behind the pantry, whispering apologies to no one in particular. When I asked her what was wrong, all she could say was, “I spilled the wine—his wine.” I didn’t even need to ask who “he” was.So I cleaned it. Silently. Without a word, I’d taken the shattered glass from her trembling fingers and told her to go rest. She hadn’t stopped thanking me. She didn’t know I’d done it for myself as much as for her. I didn’t want Cassian to have another excuse for punishment. Not today.I made my way back to the study, carrying the replacement tray, while the soft sound of violins floated through the hallway like whispers from another time. The m
"Eva Monroe's Point Of View'' I wore a baseball cap pulled low and used the rear entrance of Ridgewood Medical like I’d done a dozen times before. No paparazzi. No curious nurses snapping photos. No one is asking, "Aren’t you Cassian Vale’s fiancée?"I was just Eva again. Or Evelyn, depending on how far back you wanted to go.The name on the visitor sheet said Marla Keene. An alias I’d been using since I fled Boston. Since the trial. Since the night everything burned.The nurse didn’t even glance up as she handed me the visitor badge. “Room 708. Still stable. He had a good night.”I nodded, throat tight.Liam. My baby brother.The only person I hadn’t lied to.As I strolled down the hallway, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead and the coffee-stained tiles beneath my feet created a familiar backdrop. The sharp smell of antiseptic always transported me back to those hospital waiting rooms I’d sat in across various cities and states, each memory blending into the next.Back then,
"Eva Monroe's Point Of View'' The flashing lights were almost blinding.We stood on the red carpet outside the Lucent Foundation Gala, with cameras aimed at us like they were sniper rifles, every lens focused on us as if we were prey rather than guests.Cassian’s hand held mine tightly, possessively, but there was nothing warm or affectionate about it. It was a signal. A warning. A contract in touch form.“Smile,” he murmured under his breath. “Like I just gave you the moon.”I angled my chin and curled my lips. My smile hurt.“Ms. Monroe! What’s it like being engaged to New York’s most elusive billionaire?” one of the photographers shouted.“Is it true he proposed during a helicopter ride?” another barked.Cassian gave a faint smirk and pulled me closer. “I like my privacy,” he said, loud enough for the press. “But I couldn’t resist showing her off.”They ate it up. Cameras clicked. Flashes popped.My cheeks throbbed from the effort of keeping up appearances.Inside the gala, the at
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