INICIAR SESIÓN“It’s still her.” Three words. That was all it took for the carefully constructed world of my last five years to shatter into dust at my feet. Zane didn’t even have the decency to look away as he said it. For twenty years, I had been the third wheel. The reliable shadow to Jovienne’s brilliant sun. I had buried my own feelings for Zane so deep I almost forgot they existed, only daring to dig them up and confess them after Jovi had left the country and broken his heart. We built a life. A marriage. I truly believed, in my foolish, hopeful heart, that it was my happy ending. Now Jovienne was back, and the illusion was gone. The love of my life saw me only as a consolation prize. As my world collapses, the last person I expect comfort from is her husband—a man as cold and polished as he is powerful. Vance sees the same betrayal in my eyes that he sees in his wife's. Leaning in, his voice a dangerous whisper, he proposed the unthinkable: "They are living in the past. Let's be each other's revenge. What do you say, Nerissa?" I should avoid at all costs. It was a game that could burn our broken worlds to the ground. But as I looked into his eyes and saw the same raw, humiliating betrayal reflected back at me, the answer poised on my lips wasn't "no." It was a terrifying, thrilling question. “What,” I whispered, my voice steadier than I felt, “did you have in mind?”
Ver másWhile Zane's world crumbled, the Blackwood estate had never felt so cold.Vance walked through the front door. The maid disappeared. The portraits stared down at him. He did not stop until he reached his father's study.William stood by the window, his back to the room. He did not turn."You have destroyed everything," William said. His voice was low. Deadly."The marriage was already destroyed. I simply buried it."William turned. His face was crimson. His hands were fists at his sides."The Sinclair al
The courtroom was all pale wood and hushed voices. Zane sat at the defendant's table, his suit wrinkled from sleepless nights, his face pale. Beside him, Ms. Sterling reviewed documents with quiet efficiency. She had been confident going in. She was less confident now.Across the aisle, the Sinclair legal team sat in dark suits, three of them, led by a silver-haired woman named Mrs. Fowler—the same lawyer who had handled the Sinclair family's affairs for twenty years. She had never lost a custody case.Jovi sat behind her parents, her eyes red, her hands clasped in her lap. Ronald stared straight ahead. Margaret clutched a handkerchief.The judge, a stern woman in her sixties, adjusted her glasses.
The Sinclair mansion stood on the outskirts of the city, a Georgian revival with columns and iron gates. It had stood for over a century. It had survived wars, depressions, scandals.It would not survive this night.Zane parked his car at the curb. His hands were still shaking from the press conference. His tie was loosened. His collar was damp with sweat.He had not planned to come here. His lawyer had advised against it."Let the dust settle,"she had said."Let them come to you."But Zane could not wait.
He did not move.He stood at the edge of the crowd, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of champagne he had not touched. His face was calm.But his lips—just a fraction—curved.Not a smile. A smirk.Margaret saw it. Her face contorted. "You. You did this."Vance said nothing.Ronald stepped forward, his voice shaking with rage. "This is your doing. You planned this. At your children's birthday party—""They are not my c
Zane was finally catching up.The anonymous emails had stopped after the third one—just enough information to point him in the right direction, then silence. He didn't know who had sent them, b
The printed email sat on my keyboard. I picked it up. The words were careful, but the meaning was clear. Chen was trying to cause doubt. He was trying to hurt the project, and to hurt me.The handwritten question mark at the bottom was the only note. It wasn't an order. It was a test.I didn't feel
The ride home was silent. Zane drove with both hands clenched on the wheel. He kept looking over at Nerissa, his eyes red and worried. She stared out her window. The city lights slid past, not really reaching her. The pain in her body was a steady, deep ache. But the feeling in her chest was worse.
The ultrasound machine was a hulking, grey thing on a cart. The technician had a kind face but quiet hands. She helped Nerissa lie back, draped a sheet over her legs, and squeezed cold gel onto her stomach. She flinched.“Just relax,” she murmured, but her eyes were careful, avoiding hers.Vance ha






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