LOGINWinter thought the worst thing was being replaced with her cousin… until she crashed the company’s luxury retreat, almost drowned, and woke up pretending to have amnesia—right in front of the man who humiliated her. Now she’s stuck playing fake fiancée and sharing a room with a sexy stranger who clearly hates her guts… but can’t stop staring at her lips like he wants to ruin her. With an ex who suddenly cares way too much, her dream career on the line, and revenge heating up faster than the resort’s hot tubs, Winter is about to turn heartbreak into the most unforgettable comeback of the year. But there’s just one twist: her fake fiancé is actually the new billionaire chairman of the company… and he’s falling for her, hard.
View MoreWINTER
I pack my bags like I’m going to paradise, which, technically, I am. Thirty days of sun, wine, and couple-friendly activities at the Golden Retreat. I’m already picturing paddle-boarding, moonlit dinners, and maybe one of those couple spa sessions where they scrub your sins away. I step out of the house, glowing like a pre-honeymoon goddess in a sundress and lip gloss, only to find Mike at the car, zipping up the trunk with military precision and a face like I just told him I swallowed his promotion. He frowns. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I blink. “Um… packing? Dressing up? Getting ready to go to the annual Golden Retreat? The one your company Valcour International is hosting? The one themed around love and romance and bring-your-significant-other-or-you’ll-regret-it-for-life?” He sighs, long and deep, like I’m a toddler asking for cake before dinner. “Winter, are you seriously leaving your three jobs to go have fun for thirty days? That’s irresponsible. What if you get fired? What about your bills?” I smile like someone on the edge of violence. “Oh, that’s what you’re worried about? Relax, I planned for this. I worked overtime for months. All three jobs approved my time off. My bills are paid. My cats are fed. My soul is moisturized. I’m free, Mike.” He shakes his head slowly. “Yeah… no. I can’t take you with me.” I Pause. “What did you just say?” I ask, suddenly forgetting how to breathe through my nose. “You can’t come,” he repeats, avoiding my eyes. I feel my face twitch. “Okay. I saw the retreat post seven months ago on Valcour’s I*******m. It clearly said partners are required. That includes wives, girlfriends, fiancées, emotional support humans....whatever. I’ve been your fiancée for five years, Mike. If you're not taking me… who are you taking?” He rubs his temples. His anger flares like he’s the victim here. “So now you’re stalking me on social media?” “What? No. I follow Valcour because....hello...I want to work there as a fashion designer one day. That post was public! And you’re deflecting.” I cross my arms. “You promised, Mike. Two years ago, you said you weren’t qualified. Then you got promoted, but last year, you went alone. You said you’d take me this year. You promised.” His expression softens. For a second, I think he’s going to say sorry. Maybe even pull me into a hug. Instead, he does what Mike does best: disappoint creatively. He places his hands on my shoulders like I’m a child he’s about to send to boarding school. “You need to understand me, dear. I already promised to take someone else. I can’t break my word.” “Oh. But you can break your word to me?” “You’re my future wife,” he says, tone so rational I want to scream. “We’re getting married in six months. You should be understanding, Winter. Do you really want your husband to look bad in front of people?” I stare at him like he’s grown two extra heads. “Mike. Who are you taking?” He doesn’t flinch. “Your cousin, Olivia.” My mouth drops open. My ears short-circuit. I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. “You’re taking Olivia?” I gasp. “Instead of me?” “She’s your cousin,” he snaps, suddenly defensive. “Can’t you be more considerate?” “I’m sorry....what?” He sighs again. “You know her health isn’t great....” My grip tightens around the suitcase handle. Here comes the pity Olympics. “Her parents died....” "Twenty-five years ago, Mike. They didn’t die yesterday." “She’s had a hard life, Winter. You have everything but she has nothing. Don’t compete with her. She’s been through a lot. And she... she needs this more than you do. You’ll understand someday. You always do.” My heart doesn’t just clench. It tap dances on broken glass. He checks his watch, like this emotional mugging is making him late. “I’m leaving, okay? I don’t want to miss the group photo. See you in a month.” And just like that, he kisses my cheek, gets into the car, and drives off... to a romantic retreat I was supposed to be on, that I basically discovered first. I stand there, in my best heels, with a suitcase full of unbothered outfits and a heart full of pain, watching the man I love disappear into the sunrise like my feelings didn't matter at all.WINTER"What?" Both Treasure and Blair exclaim at the same time, their voices loud enough that I worry they'll wake up the entire neighborhood."Nath is a fraud?" Treasure asks, her face a mixture of shock and betrayal."Keep your voice down," I hiss, glancing toward the house. "Don't wake Mom up."After I broke down and cried outside like my life was an audition for the world's most depressing reality show, Mom became so emotional that she started crying too. Remembering her health condition, the rest of us quickly got over our own emotions and focused on her instead, consoling her and making sure she took her medicine until she finally fell asleep. It took nearly an hour of gentle reassurance and Treasure humming that lullaby she used to sing when we were kids before Mom's breathing finally evened out into sleep.Afterward, Treasure and Blair immediately bombarded me with questions about what happened at the resort, and I proceeded to tell them everything. Every humiliating detail f
WINTER It's Treasure. My baby sister stands there with her fist still raised, fury blazing in her eyes like I've never seen before. For a moment, I can't process what just happened. Can't reconcile the image of gentle, sweet Treasure with the person who just punched our father square in the face. "How dare you?" my father growls when he regains his balance, his hand going to his jaw where Treasure's fist connected. "How dare you?" Treasure yells back, and there's a strength in her voice I've never heard before. "Who the hell do you think you are, raising your hand to my sister?" "You insolent child!" Our father's face turns an ugly shade of red. "You have no respect for your father!" "Who is my father? You?" Treasure's laugh is bitter and sharp. "You are nothing but a sperm donor, and today I am going to teach you that no one raises their hands to Winter and gets away with it." I just stand there with tears in my eyes, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch
WINTER Mike's hand is still on my throat when I decide I've had enough of being the victim in other people's dramatic scenes. Time to change the narrative. I reach into my pocket and pull out the small canister I had taken out of my bag before getting into Mike's car. I spray it directly into his eyes. Mike screams like I just told him his credit card got declined, except louder and more genuine, and his hand immediately flies off my throat to clutch at his face. I don't waste the opportunity. I shove him as hard as I can. He stumbles backward like a drunk giraffe and crashes to the ground with a thud that I will treasure in my memory forever. Right up there with "winning first place" and "the day I finally blocked his number." Without hesitation, I pull the rope from my other pocket. Yes, I took it from my room while packing. Yes, I thought this through. No, I'm not sorry. I drop onto him before he can recover, using my knee to pin him down. He's heavier than I rem
WINTER Mike leads the way, opens the door, and I follow him inside. Walking back into Mike's house feels like voluntarily entering a crime scene. Except the crime is the years of my life I'll never get back, and the evidence is everywhere I look. "I'll quickly go to the kitchen and get something ready for you," Mike says, his voice all gentle and caring like he's suddenly transformed into Boyfriend of the Year. Right. Because nothing says "I've changed" like offering to cook after spending years claiming domestic work was beneath him. I nod, not trusting my voice to stay neutral. The moment he disappears into the kitchen, I move. Fast. I hurry toward what used to be my room and start grabbing everything that belongs to me that I left behind when I went to the resort. Clothes. Books. My small collection of design magazines. The framed photo of me, my mom and Treasure. Everything I paid for with my own money while Mike was out buying gifts for his mistress. I'm not lea






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