MasukShe was traded like a debt. Silenced like shame. Abandoned on her wedding night. For two years, Genevieve waited for Jaxon Black to love her. But all he gave her was cold cruelty and bruised silence. Until something inside her shattered. Now, she's not the girl who begged—she's the woman who makes him suffer. But revenge has a cost... and when hate starts to blur into love, Genevieve faces the hardest truth of all: Can she forgive the man who destroyed her? Or is it already too late? A dark, lyrical romance about heartbreak, power, and the love that comes too late.
Lihat lebih banyakGenevieve’s POVI wasn’t sure when exhaustion had become my default setting.Six hours of scrubbing, cooking, folding, checking every inch of the house like my life depended on it—and maybe it did.I stood in front of my closet, fingers trembling. The bruises on my arms still ached, a gift from this morning’s conversation."Don’t you dare disappoint me."I pulled out a black dress with a low back and a jeweled neckline. One of the few things I owned that wasn’t considered a “rag.”I added silver earrings, mascara, and a touch of red lipstick—hoping it would distract from the tired lines under my eyes. Hoping he would see me.The doorbell rang.> Smile. Even if it’s porcelain.I stepped into the hallway just as I heard him laugh. That laugh—carefree, charming. A sound I’d never earned."Genevieve!" he called.I entered the lounge slowly. The air felt thick—too many expensive colognes, too many eyes.Jaxon lounged on the couch like royalty, a drink in his hand, an audience at his feet.
Genevieve’s POV The whirl of images spinning through my head nearly made me sick. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made them stronger. Clearer. Me in my white gown, sitting with nervous hands folded in my lap. Dad’s comforting grip on my shoulder. Jaxon in his black tuxedo, barely sparing me a glance. His crushing hold during the vows. No kiss. No warmth. Just silence. He left me—alone—in our new house on our wedding night. The images looped like a broken record. The last one made me whimper. Stop. It’s over. That night is over. I forced myself off the cold wooden floor, legs still trembling from the fall. Steadying myself against the nearest wall, I took a shaky breath. I would make him breakfast. It was something. Something I could do right. Something that would make him stay. I scrubbed the floors, dusted every surface, and peeked into the bedroom now and then—just to see his face. Just to admire him while he slept. It was the only time he looked peaceful. Or reac
Genevieve’s POV: The scent of old books and polished oak wrapped around me like a blanket. I curled into the oversized armchair in the mansion’s library, my fingers resting on the spine of a book I hadn’t touched in hours. It was nearly midnight. Jaxon still wasn’t home. The mansion felt more like a mausoleum than a home—too quiet, too grand, too cold. My eyes darted to the grandfather clock stationed across the room. 1:47 a.m. I had made his favorite dinner. Warmed it twice. Laid out the table with candles. Even played his favorite instrumental playlist in the background. Still, nothing. A part of me still clung to the belief that it could get better. That underneath Jaxon’s coldness was a man who just didn’t know how to show care. Maybe he needed time. Maybe, just maybe, he was scared of feeling anything. That fragile hope was the only thing keeping me here. The lights cast long shadows across the velvet rug. I shifted in the chair, pulling a soft throw blanket over my knees
Genevieve’s POV: I was seventeen the day my life stopped being mine. The scent of burnt coffee and old furniture filled our living room as I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands folded neatly in my lap. My mother paced. My father sat in his favorite chair, fingers steepled under his chin. His face was unreadable—a mixture of tension and resignation. The tension in the room felt like an invisible string being pulled tighter and tighter with every breath. They spoke in hushed tones until the knock came. And everything changed. The door opened and in walked Mr. Black—tall, stiff, perfectly tailored. His presence made the room feel smaller. Sharper. It was like he brought with him a draft that extinguished every warm feeling in the space. I stood automatically, like I’d been taught. “Good afternoon, sir.” He didn’t smile. He barely acknowledged me, his dark eyes moving past me like I wasn’t there at all. “Let’s get started,” he said, sitting across from my father. What followed












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