His To Claim
Mha Nittathe billionaire's masquerademasquerade ball fifty shades
Zara stood barefoot in front of the mirror, tugging the zipper of her newest silk blouse with one hand while Emilio paced behind her, laptop open, balancing on a teetering stack of forged banking files and birth certificates.
“Okay,” he said, typing with one hand and pouring cereal with the other, “our fabricated trust fund is now ‘active’ with $4.2 million of not-real dollars backed by five equally not-real holding companies. Your new financial advisor? Also fake. But the website is stunning.”
“Don’t forget to upload the photos of me in Monaco,” Zara said absently, smoothing her hair into a bun sleek enough to murder someone with.
“Done. And I added a blurry one where you're wearing sunglas
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