What Makes The Phantom Of The Open The Worst Golfer Story?

I’m Tessa Dean, the true heiress of the wealthiest family in United States! This time around, I’m gonna make both of you pieces of shit pay the price! On my wedding anniversary, I walked into my home carrying groceries and hope. Minutes later, a photograph destroyed my marriage. “You’ll seduce my brother whenever I’m away on business, right?” Curtis spat, his fingers tightening around my throat. “You’re such a whore!” I was pregnant. I was trembling. And I was innocent. But in the Deveraux family, truth means nothing—status means everything. Lauren, the woman who was meant to marry my husband, stepped forward with that calm, polished smile. “I’ll give you one day to divorce Curtis and leave Deveraux Manor.” Before I could defend myself, I was pushed. I hit the table. Blood spread across the tiles. At the hospital, I begged, “Please save my child.” My baby died. At the cemetery, Curtis looked at me with hatred in his eyes. “Who’s the father of this bastard?” When he poured my son’s ashes over my kneeling body, something inside me broke. But not completely. I’ll return and make them pieces of shit crawl on their knees and beg for mercy!

"Tell me you don't want this, Vivianne..." Noah's breath warmed against my skin, his finger dragging against my aching clit, and his eyes locked on me. "I'll stop if you tell me to..." My waist arch, a soft moan slipping off my lips as he pushed two fingers inside me, a smirk curling at his lips. I should push him away... I should curse him, but I couldn't. My body betrayed me. I wanted him, I hated to admit it. How could my body want the same man who ruined my life? "No... Noah..." My breath stuttered, nails digging into the bed as desire washed over me. "Do... don't... touch... argh! Right ther...e... Fuck! Please don't stop..." "Where, V... Tell me where you want me to touch." He fingers moved inside me, teasing my inside. "Ri...right there... Fuck!" My hips jerked up, pussy throbbing with pleasure, walls tightening on his fingers... right before my orgasm tore through me...

"Try not to embarrass me out there, Sunshine," Tyler muttered. I rolled my eyes. "I'm not the one with the ego, Sinclair." ********** Flora Morgan lost everything in one day. Her perfect relationship. Her dream job. Her reputation—all because of an embezzlement scandal she knew nothing about. With thirty thousand dollars in debt, the last thing Flora expects is to end up tangled with Tyler Sinclair—the NHL’s most feared player. Cold, arrogant and tattooed. The man the media calls The Devil on Ice. One mistaken identity. One outrageous proposal. One fake relationship neither of them wants. Now she's living under the same roof as the most infuriating man she's ever met, smiling for cameras, modeling beside hockey's biggest star, and convincing the entire world they're hopelessly in love. The problem? Fake relationships have a dangerous habit of feeling real. Especially when buried family secrets begin to surface, dangerous enemies start circling, and the past refuses to stay buried. What happens when the cameras stop rolling... but Tyler still calls her his prettiest problem?

Four years after my death, my wife—the CEO—was desperate. Her first love was dying of an incurable disease, and I was the only surgeon in the world who could save him. To force me out of hiding, she ran my mother down with her car, leaving her brain-dead with no chance of recovery. She had my father hanged from a tree beside my grave—while he was still alive. Then she went live on social media, threatening to burn my younger sister to death. She was waiting for me—the selfish man, in her eyes—to come crawling back, beg for mercy, and agree to operate on her one true love. But then her men finally looked into my records. "Boss... he's been dead for four years. "He died on the very day he gave you his heart."

One year after I was confirmed to be a fake heir, all my friends said I was like a completely different person. I was no longer spoiled or entitled. I no longer desperately sought even a passing glance from my parents. And I no longer exhausted myself trying every possible way to win Jane Fraser's love. The harsh reality of financial hardship left me running ragged every day. It also made me understand, with painful clarity, that affection and romance were the most useless things in this world. As they wished, I stopped fighting. I stopped competing for anything at all. Later, when Jane brought the real heir back home, I simply went quietly to the guest room and waited in silence, ready to give up everything that once belonged to me. But those who had long wanted me to be obedient and well-behaved were suddenly driven mad. They asked me, over and over, why I had stopped fighting back.

The night before I officially registered my marriage, my friends convinced everyone to play a "mystery box game." The female guests each placed a gift into a box, and the gifts were randomly given to the men at the party. Everyone said it was the fairest way. When I opened my box, there was only a thin card inside. It said, "Thanks for participating." The entire room instantly went silent. Some people couldn't hold back their laughter. My fiancée, Charlotte Kilbourn, reached over and straightened my collar. "Your luck is still terrible." Lyra Sharpe, my childhood friend who grew up with me, whispered, "Just smile. Don't make people think you're a sore loser." Meanwhile, Connor Winfield got the hidden prize in the same round. Inside were a limited-edition mechanical watch personally chosen by Charlotte, a couples' island vacation package I had dreamed about for three years, and a handwritten note from Lyra that said, "We'll always protect you." I forced myself to laugh along, then placed the card back into the empty box. I thought winning a game was just about luck. But when I went to the restroom, I overheard the host checking the prize list in the lounge. "Ms. Kilbourn, you didn't give out the prizes wrong, did you? The hidden prize went to Mr. Winfield, and the participation prize went to Mr. Rayner." Charlotte answered calmly. Lyra laughed and added, "That's right. He won't take it seriously." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remembered the night I turned 18, when I stood in the rain waiting for the midnight fireworks at my debut party. Charlotte and Lyra had given the only umbrella to Connor. Then they turned back and told me, "George, you're closer. Just run a few steps and you'll be fine." That night, after I walked home soaked in the rain, I still believed I was just unlucky. But tonight, I finally understood the truth. They had never planned to give me that umbrella from the beginning. So this time, I tore the card into pieces and canceled my marriage registration appointment. I didn't want to play a "lucky game" they had already planned for me anymore.