The Magnate Who Claimed My Heart

nce into his dream and even underwent ninety-nine humiliating

e truth. He called me his "cash cow" and the surgeries were

me. He never

n shakes" to keep me compliant and

tar, expose my most private medical secrets, an

ance on the ashes of my digni

ed. I picked up my phone and texted the one man I had blacklisted, the ruth

pte

nic clung to my skin, a suffocating reminder of where I was and what I just endured. This was the ninety-ninth time. Ninety-nine times

h a hint of concern she couldn't quite mask anymore. She looked at me ove

. "Just eager for my big day, Doctor." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue

. "Of course. Ninety-nine... just one more to go, then?" Her question

e. What could I say? That I was doing this for a man who claimed to love me but demanded

any event, smooth over any scandal. My public image was one of unflappable composur

. He was younger, ambitious, with kind eyes and a boyish charm that had disarmed my usual

r his dreams. I had hosted lavish parties, introduced him to powerful investors, and navigated the shark-infe

dredth procedure. It was his way, he' d explained, of ensuring our union was pure, untainted. He wanted to feel like he was the

warmth, felt harsh, exposing. A dull ache throbbed between my thighs, mirroring the deeper ach

noticed a familiar car parked a few spaces down. Christian's sleek, black Tesla. He must have been wait

through the afternoon quiet. My heart gave a strange little flutter. He rarely laughed like tha

ice, deeper, boomed. It was Demonte Frank,

"Picking up my ca

y blood ran cold, fear and con

, huh?" Demonte chuckled. "She still

mething inside me. "Of course she does. Annie's so despera

handle tightly, my knuckles turning

enuine concern in his voice. "She looks... gaunt. An

aunt? Probably all that 'training' for her big day. Look, Demonte, she's perfectly

d, sounding genuinely puz

ery damning word. "Come on, man. You really think I'd actually touch her? She' s a walki

vision blurred. It wa

asked, his voice lower no

the idea of a pure, untouched socialite. Keeps them coming back, keeps the mon

ile rising in my thro

dinner, almost dreamy," Demonte said, cle

. A little something extra in her protein shakes before our 'dat

health, for my skin. The hazy memories of those dinners, the strange detachment, the feeling of being observed but una

All those years, all that sacrifice, all that pain... for this? To be a

voice breaking through my daze. "It'

with Annie as my bride. That's where the real fun begins. I' m going to publicly expose her, hu

pinprick of white-hot

li?" Demont

childhood sweetheart. She understands me. She's the one I'm actually marrying. A

ame pierced through the fog of my shock. He was going t

eath coming in short, shallow pants. The world spun. My five years of devotion, my entire fortune, my very self, had b

h time, I'd returned home, exhausted and vaguely disgusted, only for Christian to be there, praising my efforts, reinforcing the lie

areer, fresh out of college, navigating a world that often judged women by their looks and connections. I' d learned early on how to use those perceptions to my advantage, building a reputation as a shrewd businesswoman, a social architect. But

– all mocked, all for naught. He was going to destroy

replacing the despair. If he wanted a show, h

years, past the one I had actively blacklisted. Constantine Russell. The notorious East Coast private equity magnate.

Then, with a surge of icy dete

wedding.