First-Person POV-Webromane & CEO Flash Marriage-Geschichten

Alora made a couple of mistakes over seven days due to emotions. The first was spending a night with a stranger because she caught her best friend and fiancé together a week before their wedding. The second was lying to hundreds of reporters that Kellan Torrington was her fiancé after finding out her best friend had taken her place at the altar. Not willing to accept defeat, she lied to the whole city that she was going to be married to Kellan Torrington in a week without knowing anything about him. She had no idea that the same man she was lying with was the same man she had spent a night with a week ago. A man who was ruthless and wasn't willing to let what she did slide. Alora wanted to escape humiliation and not accept defeat but instead, she got herself involved in a mess she couldn't get out of. It all started with a lie and somehow it became her reality. A blessing or a nightmare?

Seven hundred and thirty nights of marriage, and my husband never touched me once. Preston Sinclair claimed the car crash before our wedding left him medically impotent. Out of guilt and devotion, I walked away from my billionaire family’s empire, hid my identity as the world-renowned biochemical formulator "S.K.," and spent two years building his company from the shadows. Until the night of our second anniversary. Standing outside his study door, I heard my "impotent" husband moaning the name of my best friend, Chloe—the only person I trusted when I had nothing. "Wait until the $500M patent clears," Preston panted into the phone. "Once I steal her formula, I’ll dump my pathetic charity case of a wife and make you Mrs. Sinclair." I didn't cry. I printed the divorce papers on the spot, triggering a mandatory 30-day cooling-off period. When I stepped into the dark hallway, I collided with the one man Preston fears most: Dominic Sinclair. His ruthless older half-brother. The cold-blooded head of Sinclair Global who walks with a titanium cane and never removes his black leather gloves. Except tonight, Dominic peeled off his glove in the dark, pressed his bare thumb to my lips, and whispered a lethal bargain: "Give me thirty days, little sister-in-law. And I’ll help you burn their world to ash—starting in my bed."