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 More~~CLAIRE~~I smile back half-heartedly. “Hello, Zeke, nice to meet you. But you walked into the wrong room—”“Claire, I know you're angry with me.” He cuts me off, and before I know it, he's a few inches from my bed.What the fuck.“Hey, stay back.” I press my back into the headboard, instinctively pulling the thin blanket up to my chest. "I don't know a Zeke. You need to leave."His smile vanishes, eyes narrowing. “I get it. You hate me; I didn't call, I didn't know about the accident—”“I think you're confused,” I say, pushing myself up the headboard as if it could somehow shield me, protect me. The guy's giving me strange vibes. Oddly familiar vibes. And the way he keeps coming closer.“I'm not talking about the recent accident; I'm talking about the one from long ago.““Okay, I'm calling the nurse.”“No.”“Nurse. Doctor. Janitor. Anybody.” I scream, and the headache hits me like a bitch, dropping my pitch till it's only a whisper. My vision blurs, my head spins, and before I reali
CLAIREI thought I hated surprises. I was wrong. I was not built for every kind of truth. I thought confetti and balloons were the worst surprises. It turns out a living, breathing ghost is a far more effective party trick. A truly catastrophic one is a man who lies about his family, and then you stumble upon a skeleton in his closet.I need air, need space to clear my head. Stay calm, not recalling the sick feeling of being lied to for two good years. I trusted Levi; I believed everything he told me. I was certain he was the right man for me, like he's good enough in most important areas. He’s loving, kind, and treats me right. He's not abusive, not controlling, nor dominating. He supports my career, played a big role in improving my fame, and all. So why would he keep such a secret from me? Assuming this blew up when we were already married, how would I have reacted? Would it be worse? Would the truth come out after we had a child of our own, after I had fully intertwined my life w
CLAIRE“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, LEVI!”“LEVI!”I hope it's not what I think it is... if it is, God help me, I'm gonna kill him.“LEVI.” No answer. Just an infuriating silence. No female voice. Did they stop talking or is he taking her outside?I slam my shoulder into the door with all my strength. Nothing. It doesn't even rattle. I zap back and charge at it again, and again, and again until it rattles my bones; I thought I broke something in me. And the door doesn’t move an inch.Panting, I stumble backward, wincing, the white-hot fury making me dizzy. Calm down, Claire. Calm. Just breathe... breathe.Nada. The rage doesn’t listen. Either I break this door down or I'll explode. I take my pick. Gonna have to find something heavy. I turn back and practically tear into the walk-in closet, eyes frantically scanning the rows of designer shoes. I ignore the piles of flats and sneakers; my gaze hooks on a pair of sharp stiletto heels. I close in on one, lunge to the door, and strike the sharp ti
CLAIREOne of the many things I hate? It's surprises. Don't take me unaware. Just don't. Be it birthday, Christmas, anniversary—whatever—you'll have to tell me there's going to be a party. And if I walk into a dark room and you turn the lights on and shout "SURPRISE!" with confetti everywhere, balloons flying, and whatnot, you're gonna eat shit.But not with my fiancé. At least, my tolerance level is higher with him.At seven PM, he shot out of nowhere and waltzed into the studio with a pink bouquet—Pink? God! For two years we've been dating, and he still doesn't know I hate the color pink. If he even brought a black flower, I'd marry him right there. I swear to God.I'm not a normal romance girl; hell, I hate sweet cuddling, cutie, all butterflies and rainbows stuff. I want raw passion, dark obsession, bone-chilling love—call me weird; I don't fucking care.Unfortunately, my fiancé… Well… he's okay. He's what many would call a perfect man: good-looking, nice career, dollar bills in h












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