Too Late Mr. Sterling: You Lost Me

Chapter 8 8

Word Count: 428 | Released on: 08/01/2026

skin until it was red. She wanted to wash off the feeling of th

d to wash off the gho

ing pajamas-flannel, buttoned to the neck.

ady in bed. He was lying on his back, scrolling o

. His eyes raked over her f

asked. "I thought... maybe

he mattress

ed and climbed in, staying as close to t

umbled. He tossed his phone onto th

His hand was heavy. His fingers

her neck. It smelled of toothpaste and st

ed lower, to

asm. Her body was rejecting him. It wasn't

said, grabb

voice hardened.

aid

Archer's insecurity flared instantly into ange

Harper spat. She sat

'm the one paying for that dress you left crumpled on the

it. The t

body," Harper said

e guest room then. If you're going to act

. She grabbed her

e locked the door. Then she dragged the hea

door, and buried her face in her knees. She did

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Too Late Mr. Sterling: You Lost Me

Alma Modern

“I was the perfect fiancée to Archer Sterling, a tech mogul who demanded I be as polished as his marble countertops. I gave up my art and my identity to fit his world, believing our upcoming wedding was the start of our forever. A mysterious text led me to a hidden folder in a calculator app on Archer's phone. Inside were photos of him with his assistant, Mia, and texts calling me a "dead fish" and "manageable" collateral for his upcoming IPO. The humiliation peaked at my final bridal fitting. Archer ditched me for a hotel tryst with Mia, leaving me to overhear the salon staff mocking me as a "clueless gold digger." When I collapsed in the hallway, barefoot and broken, Archer didn't offer a hand. He only scolded me for "making a scene" and ordered me to be "supportive" of his busy schedule. The seven years I spent molding myself into his ideal woman were a lie. I wasn't his partner; I was a character in a play he wrote for his investors. My love had been met with calculated contempt, and my sacrifices were treated as his due. That night, I found Mia's silk stockings shoved in my guest bathroom. The scent of her perfume in my home was the final breaking point. When Archer tried to touch me, my skin crawled with a physical rejection I couldn't mask. I locked the door, shredded the stockings, and called the one man Archer feared: Julian Van Der Bilt. "Does your offer for help include getting me out of here?" I asked. "Pack a bag," Julian's voice rumbled through the dark. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't let him see you leave."”