The Billionaire's True Partner

The Billionaire's True Partner

Gavin

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It was supposed to be my night. At the Bancroft Foundation Gala, sparkling under crystal light, I, Scarlett Davenport, was meant to receive the historic Bancroft signet ring from Ethan, sealing our dynastic union. My grandfather smiled, knowing the Davenport Covenant-my birthright as queenmaker-was finally coming to fruition. But then, Ethan, the golden boy on stage, scanned the room, and his eyes didn't land on me. They found Daisy Miller, the estate manager's daughter. A gasp echoed as he slipped that ring onto her finger, declaring her his "true partner." My heart didn't stop; it went very, very still. Then came the knife: a "psychological compatibility report" claiming I was "unsuited for the intense public life" he envisioned. The whispers, the pitying stares, Eleanor's humiliating offer of mistress status-it all burned. My reputation, shredded. He called me "unsuited." How blind he was! He'd chosen a pawn over the queen, discarded the absolute key to the power he craved. The Davenport Covenant wasn't just a quaint story; it was a destiny waiting to be unleashed. A monumental fool. As society vultures circled, I saw my chance. I turned to Eleanor, asking for public sanction for a new match. My eyes scanned the room, landing on him: Jax Morgan, the self-made tech billionaire. "Him," I stated, my voice clear. His amused gaze met mine-a challenge, not a rejection. The true game began.

Introduction

It was supposed to be my night. At the Bancroft Foundation Gala, sparkling under crystal light, I, Scarlett Davenport, was meant to receive the historic Bancroft signet ring from Ethan, sealing our dynastic union. My grandfather smiled, knowing the Davenport Covenant-my birthright as queenmaker-was finally coming to fruition.

But then, Ethan, the golden boy on stage, scanned the room, and his eyes didn't land on me. They found Daisy Miller, the estate manager's daughter. A gasp echoed as he slipped that ring onto her finger, declaring her his "true partner." My heart didn't stop; it went very, very still.

Then came the knife: a "psychological compatibility report" claiming I was "unsuited for the intense public life" he envisioned. The whispers, the pitying stares, Eleanor's humiliating offer of mistress status-it all burned. My reputation, shredded.

He called me "unsuited." How blind he was! He'd chosen a pawn over the queen, discarded the absolute key to the power he craved. The Davenport Covenant wasn't just a quaint story; it was a destiny waiting to be unleashed. A monumental fool.

As society vultures circled, I saw my chance. I turned to Eleanor, asking for public sanction for a new match. My eyes scanned the room, landing on him: Jax Morgan, the self-made tech billionaire. "Him," I stated, my voice clear. His amused gaze met mine-a challenge, not a rejection. The true game began.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

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