FAZER LOGINI always knew Wilbet was cruel. But I never thought he’d put a price on me. A marriage built on duty. A husband who thrived on power. And now, a contract that sealed my fate. To another man. Thirty million dollars. That’s all it took for Wilbet to sign me away like a business deal, like I was nothing. As I sat across from the stranger who now owned me, I realized something chilling. He never once looked at Wilbet. Only at me. And in his gaze, I saw it—possession. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t escape. This was the beginning of something far more dangerous.
Ver maisAziza – POV"The precious thing he gave up was you."The ringing in my ears intensified.Me?How does someone just... give a person away? What was this—the 18th century?I looked at Malcolm. Then Wilbet. They must’ve both lost their minds, because none of this made sense.“He gave me up?” I said slowly. “That’s rich, considering I don’t ever recall being his.”Malcolm tsked. “Ah, but my darling, you are. And I have you bound to me—legally and all. We’ve been drafting this contract for weeks now, haven’t we, Willy boy?”He looked over at Wilbet, who still said nothing. The fool.As if his silence could magically solve all of this.“I knew you weren’t fond of me, Wilbet,” I said, voice rising, “but to take out millions in my name, squander it, and then use me to clear the debt—for money I never even saw? That’s low. Even for someone like you.”He didn’t respond. Of course.“Who put you up to it?” I demanded. “Was it my sister? Or did you decide all on your own? Answer me, Wilbet!”I was
Aziza – POVWilbet still didn’t meet my gaze.He said nothing—sat there like a marble statue. And Malcolm? He couldn’t wipe that infuriating smirk off his face.“It’s lovely to see you again, Aziza,” he said, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Your face is something I’ve become quite fond of.”I turned to face him, my voice low and sharp. “Cut the bullshit. What are you doing here? If my husband can’t speak up, maybe you have the balls to tell me something.”“Balls?” Malcolm chuckled. “I like that. Seeing as you look completely lost, I’ll assume he didn’t tell you anything. A shame, really. Gregory—what happened to honesty is the best policy?”“Shut up, Laurent,” my husband bit out quietly.Malcolm only laughed. “I believe you to be very smart, Aziza. Smarter than Gregory gives you credit for. I know you know what’s going on. Just think a little harder.”What was he trying to hint at? Was it the bank statements? The debt he mentioned at his estate dinner?Yes, things had been... patc
Aziza – POVSomething was wrong. I just didn’t know what.One week ago, the staff were gone. The cars were missing. The house had felt half-dead. I had tiptoed around empty halls with questions bubbling up in my throat, scared to ask them out loud.And now? Everyone was back.The cook was humming again in the kitchen. The gardener waved at me like he’d never stopped coming. The driver was polishing the Bentley in the sun. I even caught a glimpse of the jet flying out yesterday, its wings cutting across the blue sky.The paintings that had disappeared from the hall quietly, without a word were back too. Hung exactly as they’d always been. As if someone had taken a photo and pressed rewind.It was the kind of thing you’d dismiss if it happened once. But everything had reversed itself in a week.And that was why my head wouldn’t stop spinning.Because I had seen the documents.I had been in the library looking for a book when I found them, lying half-tucked under one of Wilbet’s old news
Wilbet – POVLeaving Emile’s house left me more disoriented than usual. I used to run to her for closure, for comfort—a distraction that made forgetting easier. But now? I couldn’t even forget in peace.I slid into the driver’s seat of my Bentley and backed out of the driveway. If any of Emile’s staff were shocked to see me behind the wheel, they didn’t show it. Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed them. I couldn’t even remember the last time I drove myself anywhere. But now, it was something I had to do. Letting the driver go was one of many decisions forced by truth I could no longer outrun: we couldn’t afford him.And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Aziza had started noticing. The missing day staff. The cleaner who didn’t show. The little girl who now served her breakfast alone. I silently prayed to whatever god might still tolerate me that Aziza hadn’t started connecting dots too fast. The last thing I needed was for her to go running to her mother—or worse, her brother. That would
The next morning, I sat at the long dining table, my hands wrapped around a delicate porcelain teacup. I wasn’t drinking—just holding it, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.Across from me, Wilbet was in high spirits. He spread marmalade over his toast, smiling to himself like a man who had ju
The gala ended, and I didn't see him again. It was like he was never even there to begin with. Wilbet came hurrying down to meet me, his tie noticeably askew. I wouldn't say anything to him—I was mentally drained.After saying our goodbyes, we made our way outside, where the limo was waiting. I ent
I downed the second glass immediately, the bubbles burning down my throat, but I didn’t mind. It was a welcome distraction from everything happening around me. My head was hot, my side throbbed badly, but here I was, playing pretend.I exhaled heavily, scanning the crowd for my dear husband. As exp
As soon as we got past the paparazzi, Wilbet immediately let go of my waist and glued his eyes to his phone. In the earlier months of our marriage, I would have been worried worried that maybe I did something wrong, something to piss him off, that made him withdraw his attention from me. But now, I


















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