Betrayal and Vengeance

I spent a decade as Ashton Maxwell' s shadow, building his empire and warming his bed, only for him to announce his engagement to a senator's daughter right in front of me.

When assassins struck that night, he didn't just choose her; he used my body as a human shield against a grenade and then shot me himself to prove his loyalty to her family.

I survived, reinvented myself as Grecia Munoz, and returned to burn his world to the ground, eventually forcing him to hand over his entire empire in a desperate plea for forgiveness.

He promised to disappear so I could find peace with a kind doctor named Garrick.

But Ashton' s definition of love was a sickness.

To "protect" me from what he called a weakness, he secretly destroyed Garrick' s career and reputation, driving the only innocent man I ever loved to jump off a bridge.

He thought this would drive me back into his arms, into the safety of the monster he created.

Instead, I drove to the Hamptons, to the pristine dream home he had built for our future.

He knelt before me, begging for understanding, claiming he did it all for us.

I didn't offer forgiveness.

I raised the pistol he had once given me, aimed at the heart I had already broken, and ended the nightmare once and for all.

Chapter 1

Iris POV

I traced the rim of the champagne flute, the anticipation a humming current beneath my skin. Ten years. Ten years of building his empire, of being his shadow, his strategist, his lover. Tonight felt different. Tonight, the whispers of a shared future felt real, tangible. Ashton was late, but that was just like him, always making an entrance. The door finally clicked open. My smile faltered.

He wasn' t alone.

Elodie Hubbard, a vision in an ethereal white dress, clung to his arm. Her laugh, light and tinkling, shattered the quiet hum of my hope. Ashton' s eyes met mine across the penthouse living room, devoid of the warmth I expected. They held a different kind of glint – triumph, and something colder. Something I couldn't yet name.

"Iris," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "Elodie and I have an announcement."

My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. I knew this voice. I knew this look. It wasn't the voice of a man about to propose. It was the voice of a man closing a deal. But not with me.

Elodie beamed, her perfect white teeth flashing. "We're engaged!" she chirped, holding up her left hand. A diamond, impossibly large and brilliant, dwarfed the one hidden in my handbag. It mocked me.

The air left my lungs in a silent whoosh. Engaged. Not to me. Never to me.

My throat tightened. "Congratulations," I managed, the word a bitter ash on my tongue. It felt like a lie.

He nodded, a dismissive gesture. "It's a strategic alliance. Senator Hubbard' s connections will legitimize everything we've built, Iris. You understand."

He said it like an order. Like I was a subordinate, not the woman who had shared his bed, his secrets, his life for a decade. Like I was nothing more than a cog in his machine.

I understood. I understood that I was never the prize. I was only ever the tool.

Just hours ago, he had held me. His hands on my skin, his breath hot against my neck. His whispers had filled my ears. False promises. Beautiful lies. Lies I had desperately wanted to believe.

His lips had moved against mine, a practiced intimacy. Every touch, every kiss, a carefully orchestrated symphony of control and desire. I had melted into him, as I always did. My body, a testament to a loyalty he clearly didn't deserve.

"You're mine, Iris," he'd murmured, his voice rough with something I'd mistaken for passion. "Always."

He'd pulled me closer, the scent of his cologne filling my senses. His calloused fingers had traced the line of my jaw, then slid down my arm, intertwining with mine. My heart had swelled, foolishly believing this was the preamble to everything I dreamed of.

I remembered the warmth of his skin against mine, the rhythm of his breath matching my own. I had clung to him, pouring all my unspoken hopes into that embrace. My body had ached with a longing that went beyond physical pleasure. It was a craving for belonging, for permanence.

He had stroked my hair, his gaze distant even then. "My mother wants me to attend the annual charity gala next month," he' d said, his voice casual. "It's a big one this year. All the influential families will be there."

My breath had caught. A shiver of excitement had run through me. He never took me to those events, the ones where the Maxwell name was paraded in polite society. It was always some carefully selected 'date' to maintain appearances. Was this it? My official introduction?