Good Wives Finish Last: Revenge of the Billionaire's Ex Wife

ually rememb

mascara running down my face like some kind of disaster, and th

alley smelled like old grease and cilantro. That was the moment it f

in here at seventeen, right when the child-star hype died and the tablo

ed piling up faster than I could handle. Whenever my life fell apart, I'd just tuck m

n't just hiding. I

down the wall, landing right in a puddle of something that smelled l

Christ,

chef's whites, a knife in one hand and a cigarette hanging

our annual meltdown doesn

at came out was another sob,

d hauled me up by my armpits like I weighed nothi

ugh the steaming kitchen. They'd seen fallen stars before

ap tequila into a chipped mug that said WORLD'S

. Then

ed my throat. I

irt this morning. The penthouse. The table. The way he just kept

etending to be a CEO since he was twenty-five, and he call

e you still outshone them. Zayden didn't fall in love that night, mija. He saw a sad, beautiful girl he could rebrand. He turned Sunny Sant

ws where I was crying, the images of a broken daughter taking care of

ow. "He didn't save you, Rina.

ugh escaped

"Auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong. Tra

es," I w

r grin turned wolfish. "Remind the world who you w

the desk. Unknown

ounded like old money. "Dexter Simmons. H

s eyebro

lier work. The real you. 'Saint Erina Saves the Day'-teaching broke kids how to make gourmet grilled c

opped. Mariso

atform. A nightly live show. No delay, no ce