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Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire

Chapter 5 Her fiancé

Word Count: 736    |    Released on: Today at 14:17

the floor-to-ceiling win

mattress so soft i

rt. "Malnutrition and physical trauma," he sai

s nest soup. Her eyes were still swollen from crying. She sat on t

s. "I can feed myself," she m

nd down. "Let your mother

followed by a man in a sharp gre

y's chief trust la

Miss Wilder, this transfers full control of the hig

zeros on the page was enough to buy half of

k Card from his pocket and placed it on her

op. "I already hacked the Stafford family's security system

She laughed. "Stop. I w

f bed. "Come. I have

o the third floor. Charles

ore. Racks of haute couture from every major luxury

seasonal lines overnight," Cha

ted the cut and clarity of the stones, a habit born from years of studying high-end

carrying two cups of coffee. S

you like the clothes. Mom had them arranged based on my

ee. She caught the subtle, venomo

thes, then back at her. She ru

his room. Have them sent to the Manhattan Women's Domestic Violence Shelter as an anonymous donation. There are women who actually need the warmt

r hand trembled, spilling hot liquid onto

pletely oblivious to the tension. "W

xcuse and practicall

y sat around a mass

e Brady family, Daxton, is coming this afternoon. H

"Let him cancel it! No man is

er head. She thought of the man in the Rolls-Roy

nally for?" she asked casua

," Sean sighed. "But Daxton m

itched upward. This was go

room. "Mr. Brady's motorcade

a scowl. "Let us go reject this arrogant

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Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
Wild Heiress, Tamed Billionaire
“When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married. His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing-no money, no identity, no hope. But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test-and twenty-three years of relentless search. "Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars."”