All Chapters of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

ANGELINA ~ "Just drop me off here please." I said to the taxi driver, fishing out the last of my cash from my purse. The meter read fifteen dollars and twenty two cents. I handed him a twenty. "Keep the change." The driver nodded, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "You sure you don't want me to pull into the driveway, miss? It's pouring out there." I glanced out the window at the large Victorian house that George and I had called home for the past three months. The lights were on in our bedroom, even though it was only four in the afternoon. Strange. George was supposed to be at work. "I'm sure. Thank you." As I stepped out of the taxi, the sky opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour. Within seconds, my cream blouse was soaked through, clinging to my skin. I hurried up the pathway, my painting supplies tucked underneath my arm in a desperate attempt to keep them dry. I had spent the day at the park, sketching, letting my mind wander. George had been distant la

With shaking hands, I pulled out a suitcase and began packing what little I could claim as mine. Clothes, a few books, my mother's old silver hand mirror— the only thing of hers I had left. I reached for the wedding photo on the nightstand but stopped. That marriage had been a lie. The smiling couple in the silver frame were strangers to me now. Instead, I carefully packed my art supplies. My sketchbooks, charcoals, and paints were the only things that had ever truly belonged to me. My mother had been a painter too, though her talent had been stifled by poverty and my father's disapproval. As I packed, I heard laughter from downstairs. George, Lisa, Victor, and Olivia, probably celebrating my downfall. The family I had tried so hard to please, to love, united in their contempt for me. I zipped up my suitcase, took one last look at the bedroom I had shared with a man who had never loved me, and headed downstairs. They were in the living room, drinking champagne. They fell sile

He turned without waiting for a response, clearly expecting to be obeyed. I hesitated only briefly before trailing after him, leaving a trail of water in my wake.The private dining room was intimate, with just one table set for two and a crackling fireplace that instantly made me aware of how cold I truly was. Mr. Salvatore gestured to one of the chairs."Sit."It wasn't a request, so I reluctantly lowered myself onto the plush velvet chair, setting my suitcase beside me. Up close, I could see that my rescuer was younger than I'd initially thought, perhaps late twenties — but there was a hardness to his features that suggested experience beyond his years."Thank you." I said, my teeth beginning to chatter. "I won't stay long."He removed his suit jacket and held it out to me. "Take it. You're shivering."I started to protest, but something in his expression stopped me. I accepted the jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm from his body and smelled expensive, sandalwood a

DAMIEN ~ I watched her from the corner of my eye as Marco drove us through the rain slicked streets of the city. Angelina Winters, Angel, as she called herself, was pressed against the door of my Bentley as if trying to minimize the space she occupied. Her clothes were still damp, her dark hair hanging in wet tendrils around a face that was remarkable not for conventional beauty but for an openness I rarely encountered. Water droplets occasionally fell from her hair onto the leather seat, and I noted with mild amusement how she frantically tried to wipe them away whenever she thought I wasn't looking. "You can damage the leather," I said flatly. "It's just a car." She flinched at my voice. "Sorry. I'm just...I don't want to ruin anything." Marco caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his expression questioning. I gave him an imperceptible shake of my head. Explanations would come later, when we were alone. Marco had been with me long enough to know when to wait for informati

My phone chimed with a preliminary report from security. I skimmed it quickly. {Angelina Winters, born in the slums of eastside, mother deceased of cancer five years prior, father suicide shortly after. Married George Sinclair three months ago, divorce filed today. No criminal record, no debt, no suspicious connections. Employed as gallery assistant at Winters Gallery for the past year until today. College education but no remarkable achievements. } Essentially a nobody, exactly what I needed.There was a soft knock at the door to the hallway. I opened it to find Angel standing there, hair wet from the shower, wearing what appeared to be a man's t shirt that came to her knees. My jacket was folded neatly over her arm."I'm sorry to bother you," she said quietly. "I just wanted to return your jacket and... thank you again. For everything."I accepted the jacket, noting that she'd managed to dry it somehow. "You already did. Multiple times. But anyway, you're welcome. Do you need any