He threw money on the bed after our one-night stand.
I threw it back in his face at his own inauguration.
By sundown, we were engaged. By the week's end — married.
Franklin Flemington needed a wife to secure his empire. I needed a miracle to save my family. For two years, we played our parts flawlessly — the golden couple the whole city envied.
Behind closed doors, I was invisible to him.
When the two years were up, I handed him divorce papers without blinking.
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "I've given you everything a husband should. What more do you want from me, Octavia?"
I smiled, signed my name, and walked out.
I thought that was the end. I thought I'd finally won.
I forgot one thing — Franklin Flemington has never lost anything in his life. And he has no intention of starting with me.
Game on.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art had been transformed into a labyrinth of shadows and expensive secrets.


Tonight was the annual Venetian Masquerade, a high-stakes gathering of New York's elite, where every face was hidden behind gold, lace, and heavy velvet. It was the perfect metaphor for my life: a beautiful, shimmering, expensive lie.


I adjusted the heavy, obsidian-black mask that covered the upper half of my face. Beside me, Octavia was a vision of tragic elegance. She wore a silk black gown that shimmered like a deep bruise under the chandeliers, her face obscured by a delicate silver filigree mask. She looked like a queen, but the way she held my arm was stiff, her fingers barely touching the fabric of my tuxedo sleeve.


"Smile, Octavia," I muttered through gritted teeth as the flashes of cameras exploded around us like silent gunfire. "You are worth five billion dollars tonight. Try to look like you enjoy the view from the top."


Chapter 23 - ~ 23