LOGINHer new life is a lie. Her fiancé's a liar. And the supposedly dead woman on her couch? She's the worst kind of truth. **** Claire thought she had it all: a perfect fiancé, a beautiful home, a successful career. Until she finds out her relationship is built on a decade of deceit and secrets. Her supposedly dead rival, the woman her fiancé, Levi, claimed to have grieved, is back—and the worst twist of all? She's the same woman who raised Levi as his stepmother. Desperate to escape the fallout, Claire drives headlong into the night, only to crash her car and be saved by a mysterious stranger. He claims to be Zeke her long-lost lover, the man she shared a passionate past with, a life she has no memory of. Now, Claire is trapped between two men: Levi, the manipulative but tormented fiancé, who is fighting desperately to prove his love and earn her forgiveness, and Zeke, the stranger who feels dangerously familiar and holds the key to the woman she used to be. Which lie will save her, and which truth will finally break her?
View MoreCLAIRE “Sage?” Zeke frowns, scanning her face as if trying to measure up what his eyes see to what his brain recognizes.The so-called sage smiles, more like a grimace, breathing hard and ragged. Her face was still pressed to the floor.Zeke releases her, turns his back to her, and rubs his temples. His shoulders tense, his fists clench.He's furious. I've never seen him like this before.He faces her quickly, his hand inches to grab her by the throat and smash her against the wall. The way his body is trembling suggests violence.But he stops himself and takes a deep breath.Meanwhile, Sage picks herself off the ground, rubbing her neck. She is scared, yes, but her eyes are still assessing, calculating."Why are you here?" Zeke clips out, each word like a grinding stone. He doesn't look at her. Now he paces back and forth, like it's the only thing keeping him sane.“No real reason,” she says, slumping on the couch, her eyes on the ground as she shakes her legs.“No reason?” Zeke sco
CLAIRENo pressure? Fuck him!That was pressuring as hell!Now I'm supposed to work hard to get those memories back even when my head is full of blanks. He just handed me the most impossible homework assignment ever. And the reward is... him?I toss and turn in the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin. The disappointment is a cold weight. It's not just about sex; it’s about the rejection of the moment, the implication that the 'me' right now isn't enough."Fine," I mumble into the pillow. "I'll remember. And then I'm going to make you regret this."I drift into sleep, but it’s not peaceful. I begin to toss and turn, my mind floating and my vision morphing into a deserted, wet street. The air is cold, thick with the smell of rain. The surroundings are dark, lit only by a single streetlight.And there's this suffocating tightness in my chest, like an overwhelming, built-up emotion that feels like regret mixed with uncontrollable fury.There's a car I don't recognize, but it seems to be
CLAIREViolet stops ten feet from the gate, her jaw tight enough to crack stone.“What in God’s name do you think you are doing, Harrington? This is private property. Get off my premises and go find your little tramp elsewhere.”Zeke straightens up, smiling faintly, walking majestically like he owns the place.“A little hostile for our first greeting in years. And the tramp is right here.” He gestures to me with a slight nod. “I want her back. Out of this gilded dungeon you call home.”Violet scoffs, taking a step closer. Robert stops his wheelchair beside her, his face unreadable, like he has seen this scene forever.Cassie? She's something else.Her eyes are entirely fixed on Zeke, so intense I think she might shrink from his snubbing.Do they know each other?Violet goes on and on, some words I can't even understand.“She’s family. You have no legal claim, no business here, and certainly no authority. Now leave before I have Security press charges for trespassing and harassment.”Z
CLAIRE“She's here at last.” Violet, my mother, doesn't even look up. She is flipping through a glossy magazine—the kind that features diamond-encrusted dog collars and $50,000 vacation homes. Her expression is one of boredom. Like this is just as she envisioned today to be this exact scene.“Sit,” she says without a glance, tapping on the couch beside her.A welcome word from a queen to a very lowly subject. I stand stiffly in the doorway, like a child covered in mud waiting for the scolding.I finally move. But I don't sit. I stand in front of her, arms crossed.“My God, look at that complexion,” she tuts, leaning forward with the predatory grace of a leopard. She rises, crossing the floor in three steps, and her perfectly manicured fingers clamp onto my chin firmly.“You’re so pale, darling. It’s almost sickly. Have you been sleeping? Or are you just allergic to sunlight now? You need to do something about this pallor before the winter makes you completely translucent.”I try to






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