More Than His Partner, She's Queen

my life into building his empire from the shadows. Tonight, the Bronze Deer exhibiti

om Vera Wang wedding dress. My blood ran cold as Ashton's arm circled her w

lies, Ashton cornered me backstage, his face twisted in fury, threatening to ruin me, to blacklist me forever. I rip

igning tears, painting me as delusional. My guilt vanished, replaced by fre

s. The line clicked open instantly, a low, gravelly voice asking, "Is it you?" Before I could answer, Arche

pte

ia Si

ge of the invisible earpiece, rubbing

rt. Five years. Five years of being the invisible assistant had trained me to find the shadows

dcast," the floor director'

he Bronze Deer exhibiti

ge hallway. The sound cut through the tense, hushed atmosphere of

e smell

urned the back of my throat. I looked up, my ey

face and an empty head. She lifted the hem of her dress, and the crushed diamonds embed

d. My lungs forgot

om Vera Wang

s, coughing through a fever, drafting the exact lace patterns on tha

whined. She grabbed the fragile

e my brain did. I wanted to slap her hand away. Bu

ped out from behin

His large hand slid around Bianca's narrow waist, settli

eautiful," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum that I knew

rked until my fingers bled. He used it

lamped down on the execution schedule in my hand,

t Ashton's chest. Her manicured fingernai

ide of her neck. "Tonight, I make you t

my throat. Five years of absolute trust, five years of hiding my tru

ionary sponsor, Mr. Ashton Miller!" the host'

rk vanished from his face. He adjusted his cuffs

Together, they walked toward the bl

passed within three feet of me. Neither of them

y the stagehands. A waterfall of magnesium flash

inding glare. A single, hot tear of ab

ll, mixed with the frantic, mechanical

p in the curtains and stared at the glamorou

ed at the cameras, announcing the complete s

He placed a hand on her back and pushed her

spent countless sleepless nights in European museums, digging through ancient texts to

had dragged my sick body through the archives in

aw it. I wasn't his partner. I was a blood bag, a

down. The media

w York Times, stood up. Her eyes were sharp, predatory

about the exact tin-lead ratio in the late me

The fingers holding the micr

ed at Ashton as if begging for help, and her p