All Chapters of The Billionaire's Good girl. Not.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"Your sister only just decided to cut off her engagement with Maverick Shelby this morning. The wedding is in a few hours, you have to be ready in time for it. She ripped her dress in anger so make do with whatever white dress you have there" Mother said with no trace of warmth in her voice. Her and Father had just entered my room that morning to drop the bombshell."But Mother-""This is a business deal that cannot be lost Camilla. If Lisa says she can't do it, you have to step up. You're the older one. Protect her." Father cut in sternly."Your sister cannot marry him because she doesn't love him. You know how soft she is, she might as well get depressed and commit suicide. You don't actually want to send her to her demise do you?" Mother asked as she pinned her narrow gaze on me."No, mother. I'll get ready now. I don't have a dress though". I muttered quietly, clenching my fists.That was always the case with my sister, Lisa. As the younger, she always got the better treatment fro

Chapter 3I went downstairs to get my heavy boxes and managed to drag them up the stairs. I took the flight of stairs and into the room I selected and began to settle in. In a few hours time, I was almost done but really hungry. I sped up my arrangement and went to shower. I hurriedly showered then went downstairs to make dinner. I'm just curious, you know. The driver said he wanted to see me at the Manor, well here I am, where is he? It's a little over eight pm anyway. I looked around the kitchen and found some ingredients for only pasta. Has anyone lived here before now? He needed to do some serious grocery shopping.It took me a while to finish cooking but well, I did. After eating, I served Maverick's on the dining table and went to wait for him on the sofa. I sat on the cream sofa, hugging my knees and watching the wall clock tick by. Midnight came soon enough, so did one and two. He didn't show up. Great. The first night in my matrimonial home and he doesn't come home. Amazing.

The scent hit me before the sight did. The antiseptic, sharp and cold, smell clung to skin and clothes, burying itself in the throat like punishment. My shoes struck the linoleum in quick, uneven beats as I rushed down the hall, chasing the nurse who had called my name. "Your grandmother is here," she murmured, stopping at the door. Her eyes softened, the kind of look that told me more than her words ever could. I didn't wait. I pushed past her. The room swallowed me whole. Quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that howls in your ears because of what's missing. No machines beeping. No low hum of oxygen. Only stillness. And there she was. My grandmother's body lay on the hospital bed, covered to the chest with sheets tucked so precisely it almost mocked me. Her hands were folded neatly, as though someone had prepared her for rest. Her face-oh God-her face was pale, lips colorless, the vibrancy I'd always known drained away. The laugh lines I used to trace with my eyes when she s

I did it. Even if it took me two years, I did it. Two years since I walked away from the cage my parents built, since I scattered the ashes of the woman Maverick broke. Two years of silence, of clawing my way out of the dark.I buried myself in work. I sketched pain into patterns, crafted grief into jewels. And from that, I built something that was mine.CJ Styles.My company. My brand. My armor. The world whispered about me in glossy editorials and runways, but they didn’t know the face behind the name. I preferred it that way. The brand was everything. I was nothing, not anymore.Or at least, that’s what I told myself on nights when the past pressed too close.For somewhere that I did the majority of my work on, my desk was pretty chaotic. Half-drained teacups, scattered sketches, fabric swatches spilling over the edge. The afternoon light carved golden lines across the mess, but I barely noticed. I was lost in the curve of a new silhouette, the weight of emerald that promised powe

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked out the window that morning and saw Maverick. He was standing there like he owned the street, leaning against his sleek black car with that infuriatingly calm expression. “Morning,” he said, voice annoyingly casual, as if showing up uninvited was completely normal. I didn’t answer. I climbed into my car, slammed the door, and started the engine. No reaction. No acknowledgment. I had work to do, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of replying. Sure enough, he followed. Not aggressively—just enough to remind me he existed. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the road. I could handle him. I just needed to ignore him. By lunch, I hadn’t eaten. My schedule didn’t allow it, and honestly, I didn’t have time to go anywhere. So my surprise was justified when I heard a knock on my office door. “Lunch?” Maverick’s calm, deep voice made me tense. I looked up, and there he was, holding a neatly packed meal in both hands. “I—don