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She's a killer who slept with the same mafia boss twice 💢 First time she vanished leaving only a note 💥 Thought she'd never see him again 🩸 But the second time he had the highest bounty in the killer world 🔥 Even she was hunting him 💎 But when she found him ✨ He trapped her in his room 💢 Gripped her shaking hand and aimed her gun at himself 💥 Chuckling, asking if she could keep it steady 🩸 This man doesn't fear death 🔥 Or has he seen through everything all along 💎 The truth awaits 👉 🔥Sleeping With Danger: The Mafia Boss I Shouldn't Have Crossed 2🔥 #GoodShort #Mystery #MafiaBoss #KillerRomance #DangerousGame #Suspense #DarkRomance #DeadlyAttraction
Sizde çocuklarınızın fotoğrafı ile birkaç saniyede böyle görseller ve videolar oluşturabilirsiniz 😇 #aicath #beniöneçıkart #reklam #işbirliği #yapayzeka
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* 12 MONTHS MOT * Why pay full price for a normal looking F-pace 300 Sport when you can get this beautiful complete SVR looking specimen for less. * The conversion cost was over 10k, but it is absolutely worth every penny. * The seats and gear selector were also swapped for a complete SVR look and feel outside and inside. * Headlights are also exchanged for genuine SVR LED headlights. * Comes in the original Yulong White colour -which is a premium offering from JLR * Drives and sounds incredible and it attracts attention everywhere it goes * Supports Android Auto and Apple CarPlay (wirelessly with the included dongle that I've been using) * A genuinely loved and treasured car with low mileage * Low road-tax * The car is still in use so mileage may change slightly (but I dont drive much due to work/travel commitments) * Will valet and fuel the car so the new owner can drive away to anywhere in the country with confidence and pride! * Too many features to list here, you'd have to see it and test it to appreciate it! * Yes, it was previously CAT N with ridiculously minimal damage, but this doesn't matter at all as all the exterior panels were replaced with genuine SVR parts. * Genuine sale and would appreciate genuine buyers. Also, I am not very good at haggling and would really appreciate it if we could avoid the uncomfortable conversation as much as possible. === List of modifications === * Genuine SVR external panels, doors, tailgate and bumpers * Genuine SVR front LED headlights * Genuine SVR sport seats * Genuine SVR rear spoiler * Genuine SVR steering wheel and padel shifters * Genuine SVR gear selector and centre consul * Carbon Fibre accents (wrap) * Tinted rear lights (wrap) * 100mm quad exhaust * Blacked out badges Learn more about this listing on Facebook Marketplace: https://facebook.com/marketplace/item/2030814714977944/ | * 12 MONTHS MOT * Why pay full price for a normal looking F-pace 300 Sport when you can get this beautiful complete SVR looking specimen for less. * The conversion cost was over 10k, but it is absolutely worth every penny. * The seats and gear selector were also swapped for a complete SVR look and feel outside and inside. * Headlights are also exchanged for genuine SVR LED headlights. * Comes in the original Yulong White colour -which is a premium offering from JLR * Drives and sounds incredible and it attracts attention everywhere it goes * Supports Android Auto and Apple CarPlay (wirelessly with the included dongle that I've been using) * A genuinely loved and treasured car with low mileage * Low road-tax * The car is still in use so mileage may change slightly (but I dont drive much due to work/travel commitments) * Will valet and fuel the car so the new owner can drive away to anywhere in the country with confidence and pride! * Too many features to list here, you'd have to see it and test it to appreciate it! * Yes, it was previously CAT N with ridiculously minimal damage, but this doesn't matter at all as all the exterior panels were replaced with genuine SVR parts. * Genuine sale and would appreciate genuine buyers. Also, I am not very good at haggling and would really appreciate it if we could avoid the uncomfortable conversation as much as possible. === List of modifications === * Genuine SVR external panels, doors, tailgate and bumpers * Genuine SVR front LED headlights * Genuine SVR sport seats * Genuine SVR rear spoiler * Genuine SVR steering wheel and padel shifters * Genuine SVR gear selector and centre consul * Carbon Fibre accents (wrap) * Tinted rear lights (wrap) * 100mm quad exhaust * Blacked out badges Learn more about this listing on Facebook Marketplace: https://facebook.com/marketplace/item/2030814714977944/
Never take B vitamins before you know this. The same goes for multivitamins. And any other B-complex supplement. You've probably seen people talking about B vitamins online. Usually multivitamins. Or B12 shots. Or those high-street B-complex supplements. And maybe you've heard the claims: more energy, sharper memory, better focus, clearer thinking. All true. All good. But here's what I've been recommending to my patients for years: Methylated B vitamins. The only form most people over 45 can actually absorb. Why does the form matter? Because synthetic B vitamins must be converted into active forms so your body can actually use them. And that conversion requires stomach acid. Most people over 45 don't produce enough. Cyanocobalamin must convert to Methylcobalamin. Folic Acid must convert to 5-MTHF. Pyridoxine HCl must convert to P5P. But that process depends on acid and enzymes that decline naturally with age. Taking acid blockers like Omeprazole? Metformin for diabetes? You've shut down the conversion entirely. Methylcobalamin. 5-MTHF. P5P. These are already active. No conversion required. They work immediately. That's the mechanism. Simple. I've been recommending this for years now. People come to me at 40, 50, 60 years old. Exhausted. Foggy. Frustrated. "I lose the word I need mid-sentence." "I wake up tired even after 8 hours of sleep." "I feel like a version of myself is slipping away." Six weeks later? They come back in tears. Thanking me. Because they feel like a completely new person. Their memory is sharper. The afternoon wall is gone. They're finding words again. The only change they made? One capsule every morning. That's it. But listen, not all B vitamins are made the same. To make sure you're getting B vitamins your brain can actually use, they must be in active, methylated forms and tested in certified third-party labs. The Vitamin B Complex By Rynw is the only one I've found that meets that standard. Only a few small companies can offer this level of formulation. If you read the thousands of reviews, you'll see why everyone buys only from this brand. Right now, you can get it at a significant discount. Exclusive pricing only available on their website. The only problem with this brand? They're a small company. And they're always sold out. They might have a few bottles left in stock. But when they sell out, my patients have waited months to get it again. Don't wait. https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
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I'd just picked up my soup spoon when Raphael Gunning told me we'd have to put off getting our marriage license. "We'll do it some other day." Raphael set down his fork, his tone casual, like he was just commenting on the weather. I took a sip of soup. "Alright." He glanced at me, then looked down to pick up some food with his fork, only to lift his eyes toward me again. "You're not upset?" I took another sip of soup, my voice steady. "No." We held our wedding six months ago, and this was the seventeenth time we'd put off getting our marriage license. He was used to this. So was I. After I finished my meal, I stood up to clear the table. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. "McKinley, I swear I'll be free next Monday. "We already had the wedding anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. "You can trust me. I won't bail on you this time." I stared at his hand holding mine, then lifted my gaze to meet his eyes and smiled, "Okay." Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, promised "for sure" thirteen times, and told me to "trust him" sixteen times. Still, we never got our marriage certificate. And next week would be no different—because this time, I'd be the one to stand him up. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the law firm's HR. "You're resigning? Does Mr. Gunning know?" I held my phone and stepped outside while Raphael stayed sitting at the dining table. He stared at me with a strange expression, hesitated for a moment, then spoke tentatively, "Why aren't you asking me why this time?" I replied to HR's message first before turning my attention to Raphael. "It doesn't matter anymore." I meant every single word. The first time we planned to get our marriage certificate, his intern, Valerie Huxley, said she had a stomachache. I sat on a bench outside the city hall from dawn till dusk and went home alone. The second time, Valerie said she couldn't figure out how to put together a case spreadsheet. He'd left me stranded at a busy highway exit and rushed straight back to the firm without a second glance. Every time after that, whenever we set a date for our marriage license, Valerie would suddenly have some sort of emergency. Over the past six months, this same scene had played out seventeen times. Raphael froze at my words. His Adam's apple bobbed. After a short silence, he held his phone out to me. "A lot of people hire photographers to film them when they get their marriage certificate these days. "We should do that too. You've always loved that kind of romantic gesture, right?" So, he did remember I loved simple romantic moments. I thought for a second and asked, "Are you free tonight? Let's go out for..." I intended to ask him out for a final meal, but his phone rang before I finished speaking. The call was from his trainee, Valerie. I couldn't hear what she said on the other end, but after he hung up, Raphael looked at me. "Honey, Val..." I cut him off with a soft smile. "Go on. Drive safe." Raphael froze, clearly surprised by how calm I was being. But after a moment, he got dressed and headed out. "I'll bring you a gift when I come back tonight." The door slammed shut with a loud thud. Soon, I heard a car start and drive away right after. I stood there, staring at the closed door. Five years together, six months of a wedding— I should've let go of this relationship a long time ago. Chapter 2 That afternoon, I went into the office and handed my resignation letter straight to HR. She looked at me, her expression a mix of regret and confusion. "You and Mr. Gunning are the firm's golden team. At your wedding six months ago, even the partners came to congratulate you, not to mention all those clients. "Everyone was so envious of you back then. Why are you leaving all of a sudden?" I thought about our wedding six months ago: having a hundred and ten tables of guests, red carpets laid out, and flowers everywhere. Raphael held my hand and promised he'd protect me for the rest of my life. It had been a grand celebration, a perfect day. But no matter how wonderful it had been, those days were long gone. It was past ten o'clock at night when I got home after handing in my resignation. The house was eerily quiet and empty. Just then, an Instagram post from Valerie popped up on my phone. She'd tagged me directly. "Thanks to my mentor for staying with me all afternoon. In return, I'll take him to a concert tomorrow." I knew Raphael, who'd said he'd come home at noon, wasn't coming back. This had happened far too many times in the six months since we'd held the wedding. I ate dinner and didn't save any food for Raphael like I used to. Instead, I opened my email, which held job offers from law firms in over a dozen countries. I moved my mouse to the one from France, accepted the offer without hesitation, and booked a flight to Paris in two days. --- The next morning, I started packing. In the master bedroom closet, my clothes were on the left and Raphael's on the right. Raphael would have never worn those bright, colorful shirts before. But after Valerie came, she said they made him look approachable and more popular with clients. Since then, he'd stop wearing the tailored high-end suits I'd carefully picked out for him. I smiled faintly and placed my own clothes into the suitcase. I was only halfway done when Raphael came home. He was wearing a pink shirt, and it smelled like Valerie's favorite perfume. When he saw me, he froze briefly before explaining instinctively, "Val insisted on going shopping last night. It was too late to drive home, so I stayed in a hotel room." I nodded and said nothing. It was the first time he'd volunteered an explanation in six months of marriage. He took two steps closer, his eyes landing on the suitcase. "Are you going on a business trip?" "Yeah." For some reason, he looked relieved. "I have things to do today. I just came back to grab something." "Alright." I kept folding clothes without looking up. I'd planned to tell him I quit over lunch, but now it seemed unnecessary. He murmured in response, pulled out a red gift bag, grabbed his coat by the door, and hurried off. The second the door closed, the photo frame that had hung on the wall for six months crashed down, sending shards of glass flying. It was our wedding photo. In it, he wore the suit I'd picked out, and I wore my wedding dress. Back then, he told me he'd love me, cherish me, and care for me forever. I'd teared up and smiled like an idiot. But once Valerie showed up, he'd forgotten all those promises. I stared at the photo for a long time before cleaning up the broken glass. Then I threw the happy photo into the trash can, gone, along with the last of my feelings for him. Chapter 3 That evening, I'd just lain down on the bed when my best friend called. "Have you checked Instagram? What's going on with Raphael and Valerie?!" I unlocked my phone and saw Valerie had just posted a new update. It was a nine-photo grid, with a new necklace around her neck as the centerpiece. The caption read, "Happy 22nd birthday to me. Thanks for the gift, Mr. Gunning." In the bottom-right picture, half of a red gift bag was visible. So, Raphael had come home at noon just to grab Valerie's birthday present. My bestie kept ranting over the phone, "You've only been married six months, and she's already pulling this? What is wrong with Raphael?" "We never got our marriage certificate." Dead silence filled the line. After a long moment, her voice came through, thick with disbelief. "What?" "We had the wedding, but we never officially got married," I explained, my voice completely flat. There was another long pause. Finally, her voice dropped, laced with sympathy. "What are you going to do?" I glanced at my packed suitcase. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow. A law firm over there offered me a job a while back." "He's not stopping you?" "He has no idea." And he wouldn't care even if he did. Ending the call, I checked Valerie's Instagram again. After a moment, I liked the post, considering it a final blessing before I left for good. At ten o'clock that night, Raphael came home. He walked in and reached to hang up his coat as usual, but froze halfway. "Where's the photo by the door?" He didn't even hang up his coat before walking into the bedroom, his voice slightly panicked. "Honey, where's our picture?" I leaned against the headboard and said calmly, "It fell and broke." At that, he glanced at the broken glass in the trash can and relaxed. Then he pulled a Louis Vuitton bag out of his own and held it out. "I said I'd get you a gift yesterday but didn't have time. Today... I made up for it." I froze for a second. Only then did I remember him saying yesterday morning, "I'll bring a gift when I come home tonight." I hadn't expected him to remember. Then, I saw the time on the receipt, from half an hour earlier. He'd probably felt guilty after seeing I liked Valerie's post, so he'd stopped at a store on the way home and bought a bag to make up for it. I didn't take it or say anything. Raphael set the bag on the bed, hesitating. "By the way, about the firm's Employee of the Month award next month, could you..." "Let Valerie have it?" He looked surprised I'd said it first and nodded awkwardly. "She's just starting out and really needs this recognition. You've won it several times already..." So, even this last-minute gift came with strings attached. I nodded. "Alright." Chapter 4 He looked stunned—probably hadn't expected me to agree so easily. "You're not mad?" I shook my head. There was nothing to be angry about. From now on, I didn't need any of the things she wanted—whether it was the Employee of the Month award or Raphael's favor. He relaxed and added, "Val is my trainee, and you're my wife. It's only right that you're generous. "Oh, and let's go to city hall tomorrow morning." I stared at him and said nothing. He seemed to remember something. "I almost forgot you're going on a business trip. What time is your flight tomorrow?" "Three PM." "Then we have time," he said at once, his tone firm. "Meet me at the city hall at ten AM. I've already hired a photographer and put down a deposit." I was about to tell him it wasn't necessary, that we didn't need to do this anymore. But his phone rang again, right on cue. Valerie's name flashed on the screen. He picked up, and her sweet voice came through the screen, saying her stomach hurt terribly and asking if he could take her to the hospital. He hung up, and for once, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. I said, "Go." He looked relieved and pulled me into a quick hug. "Dress nicely tomorrow. I'll be there, I promise. No last-minute cancellations." With that, he grabbed his coat and left. The second the door closed, I glanced at the LV bag on the bed. The receipt was still tucked inside. I didn't open it, but put it back in the bag exactly as it was and placed it on the top shelf of the closet. Up there were two more bags of the same style, different colors—all his previous "impulse buys." --- The next morning at 9:30, I zipped up my last suitcase and took one last look at the room. In the closet, Raphael's clothes hung neatly in a row. The other side was empty. At 9:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled appointment to get the marriage certificate, I called a cab and left for the airport. At ten o'clock, he still hadn't texted me or called me. And by noon, I still hadn't received a call from Raphael asking why I hadn't shown up. That afternoon, I picked up my boarding pass and walked to the gate. Just as I was about to board, my phone finally buzzed. It was two messages from Raphael, sent one right after the other. "Honey, Val's in the hospital and I can't leave her. I don't think I can make it to the marriage registration today." "When you get back from this trip, I'll pick you up at the airport, and we'll go straight to the city hall. I won't let anything get in the way this time." Reading his messages, I felt nothing. Sure enough, for the eighteenth time, he'd bailed on our marriage license. I kept my face calm as I typed my reply, "It's okay, Raphael. I've resigned. I'm starting a new job abroad." "After today, we're nothing to each other." After sending the last message, I was about to turn off my phone when the screen lit up, his familiar number flashing constantly.
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AikiKorner — 145+ técnicas de Aikido. Una filosofía. | AikiKorner — 145+ técnicas de Aikido. Una filosofía. | AikiKorner — 145+ técnicas de Aikido. Una filosofía.
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Ücretsiz doğum günü fotoğrafların hazırr 🎈🎂 Daha fazla video için kaydet 🎀 #aicatch #yapayzeka #dogumgünü
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She's a killer who slept with the same mafia boss twice 💢 First time she vanished leaving only a note 💥 Thought she'd never see him again 🩸 But the second time he had the highest bounty in the killer world 🔥 Even she was hunting him 💎 But when she found him ✨ He trapped her in his room 💢 Gripped her shaking hand and aimed her gun at himself 💥 Chuckling, asking if she could keep it steady 🩸 This man doesn't fear death 🔥 Or has he seen through everything all along 💎 The truth awaits 👉 🔥Sleeping With Danger: The Mafia Boss I Shouldn't Have Crossed 2🔥 #GoodShort #Mystery #MafiaBoss #KillerRomance #DangerousGame #Suspense #DarkRomance #DeadlyAttraction
You already know what happened. You can't figure out why you keep doing it. Mindwise. 5 minutes. Built for men who process alone.
I'd just picked up my soup spoon when Raphael Gunning told me we'd have to put off getting our marriage license. "We'll do it some other day." Raphael set down his fork, his tone casual, like he was just commenting on the weather. I took a sip of soup. "Alright." He glanced at me, then looked down to pick up some food with his fork, only to lift his eyes toward me again. "You're not upset?" I took another sip of soup, my voice steady. "No." We held our wedding six months ago, and this was the seventeenth time we'd put off getting our marriage license. He was used to this. So was I. After I finished my meal, I stood up to clear the table. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. "McKinley, I swear I'll be free next Monday. "We already had the wedding anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. "You can trust me. I won't bail on you this time." I stared at his hand holding mine, then lifted my gaze to meet his eyes and smiled, "Okay." Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, promised "for sure" thirteen times, and told me to "trust him" sixteen times. Still, we never got our marriage certificate. And next week would be no different—because this time, I'd be the one to stand him up. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the law firm's HR. "You're resigning? Does Mr. Gunning know?" I held my phone and stepped outside while Raphael stayed sitting at the dining table. He stared at me with a strange expression, hesitated for a moment, then spoke tentatively, "Why aren't you asking me why this time?" I replied to HR's message first before turning my attention to Raphael. "It doesn't matter anymore." I meant every single word. The first time we planned to get our marriage certificate, his intern, Valerie Huxley, said she had a stomachache. I sat on a bench outside the city hall from dawn till dusk and went home alone. The second time, Valerie said she couldn't figure out how to put together a case spreadsheet. He'd left me stranded at a busy highway exit and rushed straight back to the firm without a second glance. Every time after that, whenever we set a date for our marriage license, Valerie would suddenly have some sort of emergency. Over the past six months, this same scene had played out seventeen times. Raphael froze at my words. His Adam's apple bobbed. After a short silence, he held his phone out to me. "A lot of people hire photographers to film them when they get their marriage certificate these days. "We should do that too. You've always loved that kind of romantic gesture, right?" So, he did remember I loved simple romantic moments. I thought for a second and asked, "Are you free tonight? Let's go out for..." I intended to ask him out for a final meal, but his phone rang before I finished speaking. The call was from his trainee, Valerie. I couldn't hear what she said on the other end, but after he hung up, Raphael looked at me. "Honey, Val..." I cut him off with a soft smile. "Go on. Drive safe." Raphael froze, clearly surprised by how calm I was being. But after a moment, he got dressed and headed out. "I'll bring you a gift when I come back tonight." The door slammed shut with a loud thud. Soon, I heard a car start and drive away right after. I stood there, staring at the closed door. Five years together, six months of a wedding— I should've let go of this relationship a long time ago. Chapter 2 That afternoon, I went into the office and handed my resignation letter straight to HR. She looked at me, her expression a mix of regret and confusion. "You and Mr. Gunning are the firm's golden team. At your wedding six months ago, even the partners came to congratulate you, not to mention all those clients. "Everyone was so envious of you back then. Why are you leaving all of a sudden?" I thought about our wedding six months ago: having a hundred and ten tables of guests, red carpets laid out, and flowers everywhere. Raphael held my hand and promised he'd protect me for the rest of my life. It had been a grand celebration, a perfect day. But no matter how wonderful it had been, those days were long gone. It was past ten o'clock at night when I got home after handing in my resignation. The house was eerily quiet and empty. Just then, an Instagram post from Valerie popped up on my phone. She'd tagged me directly. "Thanks to my mentor for staying with me all afternoon. In return, I'll take him to a concert tomorrow." I knew Raphael, who'd said he'd come home at noon, wasn't coming back. This had happened far too many times in the six months since we'd held the wedding. I ate dinner and didn't save any food for Raphael like I used to. Instead, I opened my email, which held job offers from law firms in over a dozen countries. I moved my mouse to the one from France, accepted the offer without hesitation, and booked a flight to Paris in two days. --- The next morning, I started packing. In the master bedroom closet, my clothes were on the left and Raphael's on the right. Raphael would have never worn those bright, colorful shirts before. But after Valerie came, she said they made him look approachable and more popular with clients. Since then, he'd stop wearing the tailored high-end suits I'd carefully picked out for him. I smiled faintly and placed my own clothes into the suitcase. I was only halfway done when Raphael came home. He was wearing a pink shirt, and it smelled like Valerie's favorite perfume. When he saw me, he froze briefly before explaining instinctively, "Val insisted on going shopping last night. It was too late to drive home, so I stayed in a hotel room." I nodded and said nothing. It was the first time he'd volunteered an explanation in six months of marriage. He took two steps closer, his eyes landing on the suitcase. "Are you going on a business trip?" "Yeah." For some reason, he looked relieved. "I have things to do today. I just came back to grab something." "Alright." I kept folding clothes without looking up. I'd planned to tell him I quit over lunch, but now it seemed unnecessary. He murmured in response, pulled out a red gift bag, grabbed his coat by the door, and hurried off. The second the door closed, the photo frame that had hung on the wall for six months crashed down, sending shards of glass flying. It was our wedding photo. In it, he wore the suit I'd picked out, and I wore my wedding dress. Back then, he told me he'd love me, cherish me, and care for me forever. I'd teared up and smiled like an idiot. But once Valerie showed up, he'd forgotten all those promises. I stared at the photo for a long time before cleaning up the broken glass. Then I threw the happy photo into the trash can, gone, along with the last of my feelings for him. Chapter 3 That evening, I'd just lain down on the bed when my best friend called. "Have you checked Instagram? What's going on with Raphael and Valerie?!" I unlocked my phone and saw Valerie had just posted a new update. It was a nine-photo grid, with a new necklace around her neck as the centerpiece. The caption read, "Happy 22nd birthday to me. Thanks for the gift, Mr. Gunning." In the bottom-right picture, half of a red gift bag was visible. So, Raphael had come home at noon just to grab Valerie's birthday present. My bestie kept ranting over the phone, "You've only been married six months, and she's already pulling this? What is wrong with Raphael?" "We never got our marriage certificate." Dead silence filled the line. After a long moment, her voice came through, thick with disbelief. "What?" "We had the wedding, but we never officially got married," I explained, my voice completely flat. There was another long pause. Finally, her voice dropped, laced with sympathy. "What are you going to do?" I glanced at my packed suitcase. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow. A law firm over there offered me a job a while back." "He's not stopping you?" "He has no idea." And he wouldn't care even if he did. Ending the call, I checked Valerie's Instagram again. After a moment, I liked the post, considering it a final blessing before I left for good. At ten o'clock that night, Raphael came home. He walked in and reached to hang up his coat as usual, but froze halfway. "Where's the photo by the door?" He didn't even hang up his coat before walking into the bedroom, his voice slightly panicked. "Honey, where's our picture?" I leaned against the headboard and said calmly, "It fell and broke." At that, he glanced at the broken glass in the trash can and relaxed. Then he pulled a Louis Vuitton bag out of his own and held it out. "I said I'd get you a gift yesterday but didn't have time. Today... I made up for it." I froze for a second. Only then did I remember him saying yesterday morning, "I'll bring a gift when I come home tonight." I hadn't expected him to remember. Then, I saw the time on the receipt, from half an hour earlier. He'd probably felt guilty after seeing I liked Valerie's post, so he'd stopped at a store on the way home and bought a bag to make up for it. I didn't take it or say anything. Raphael set the bag on the bed, hesitating. "By the way, about the firm's Employee of the Month award next month, could you..." "Let Valerie have it?" He looked surprised I'd said it first and nodded awkwardly. "She's just starting out and really needs this recognition. You've won it several times already..." So, even this last-minute gift came with strings attached. I nodded. "Alright." Chapter 4 He looked stunned—probably hadn't expected me to agree so easily. "You're not mad?" I shook my head. There was nothing to be angry about. From now on, I didn't need any of the things she wanted—whether it was the Employee of the Month award or Raphael's favor. He relaxed and added, "Val is my trainee, and you're my wife. It's only right that you're generous. "Oh, and let's go to city hall tomorrow morning." I stared at him and said nothing. He seemed to remember something. "I almost forgot you're going on a business trip. What time is your flight tomorrow?" "Three PM." "Then we have time," he said at once, his tone firm. "Meet me at the city hall at ten AM. I've already hired a photographer and put down a deposit." I was about to tell him it wasn't necessary, that we didn't need to do this anymore. But his phone rang again, right on cue. Valerie's name flashed on the screen. He picked up, and her sweet voice came through the screen, saying her stomach hurt terribly and asking if he could take her to the hospital. He hung up, and for once, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. I said, "Go." He looked relieved and pulled me into a quick hug. "Dress nicely tomorrow. I'll be there, I promise. No last-minute cancellations." With that, he grabbed his coat and left. The second the door closed, I glanced at the LV bag on the bed. The receipt was still tucked inside. I didn't open it, but put it back in the bag exactly as it was and placed it on the top shelf of the closet. Up there were two more bags of the same style, different colors—all his previous "impulse buys." --- The next morning at 9:30, I zipped up my last suitcase and took one last look at the room. In the closet, Raphael's clothes hung neatly in a row. The other side was empty. At 9:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled appointment to get the marriage certificate, I called a cab and left for the airport. At ten o'clock, he still hadn't texted me or called me. And by noon, I still hadn't received a call from Raphael asking why I hadn't shown up. That afternoon, I picked up my boarding pass and walked to the gate. Just as I was about to board, my phone finally buzzed. It was two messages from Raphael, sent one right after the other. "Honey, Val's in the hospital and I can't leave her. I don't think I can make it to the marriage registration today." "When you get back from this trip, I'll pick you up at the airport, and we'll go straight to the city hall. I won't let anything get in the way this time." Reading his messages, I felt nothing. Sure enough, for the eighteenth time, he'd bailed on our marriage license. I kept my face calm as I typed my reply, "It's okay, Raphael. I've resigned. I'm starting a new job abroad." "After today, we're nothing to each other." After sending the last message, I was about to turn off my phone when the screen lit up, his familiar number flashing constantly.
Ella fue la novia clandestina del multimillonario durante dos años. Le brindó todo su apoyo sincero, pero él la recompensó con un matrimonio pactado en público y humillaciones crueles. Pisoteada su dignidad por él y su nueva pareja, despertó de una vez y decidió vengarse y vivir únicamente para sí misma. ===== Capítulo 1 Arrojó el teléfono sobre la cama y caminó hacia el ventanal. Central Park se extendía abajo, una extensa mancha de gris y marrón bajo la luz invernal. Se veía desolador. Necesitaba un esposo. Rápido. Necesitaba a alguien que no hiciera preguntas, alguien que necesitara una transacción tanto como ella. Regresó a la cama y abrió su laptop. Sus dedos volaron sobre el teclado. Babe Vincent. El nombre había estado circulando en las redes clandestinas de rumores del Upper East Side durante meses. Un playboy escandaloso. Repudiado por la mitad de su familia. Se rumoreaba que estaba muy endeudado con la gente equivocada, o quizás que intentaba ocultar una sexualidad que lo dejaría sin el resto de su herencia. Los rumores decían que estaba desesperado por una tapadera. Una fachada. Encontró el contacto de un bufete de abogados discreto que manejaba "gestión de reputación sensible". Tecleó rápidamente, su corazón martilleaba contra sus costillas como un pájaro atrapado. Solicitud: Negociación de Contrato Urgente. Cliente: Jocelyn Wolfe. Presionó enviar. Miró su reflejo en el oscuro cristal de la ventana. Tenía el pelo desordenado, los ojos bordeados de rojo, pero su mandíbula estaba tensa. "No más sustitutos", susurró a la habitación vacía. La vibración del teléfono contra la mesita de noche de caoba no era un zumbido suave. Era un taladro, perforando el silencio de la habitación de invitados a las 6:00 AM. Jocelyn Wolfe apretó los ojos con fuerza, deseando que el ruido desapareciera, pero el zumbido persistía, haciendo vibrar el vaso de agua que había dejado allí la noche anterior. Se dio la vuelta, las costosas sábanas de algodón egipcio enredándose en sus piernas. Se sentían frías. Todo en el penthouse de Kieran Douglas se sentía frío, diseñado por la estética más que por la comodidad. Extendió la mano, sus dedos buscaron a tientas hasta que tocaron el liso metal de su smartphone. Entrecerró los ojos ante la dura luz azul de la pantalla. No era una alarma. Era una avalancha. Notificación tras notificación se apilaban como ladrillos en la pantalla de bloqueo. Twitter. Instagram. Apple News. Y justo en la parte superior, el banner rojo de una alerta de Page Six. El magnate tecnológico Kieran Douglas estrena romance con Aspen Schneider. A Jocelyn se le cortó la respiración en la garganta, un dolor agudo y físico que se irradiaba desde su pe**o hasta su estómago. Su pulgar flotó sobre la notificación. No quería abrirla. Sabía lo que vería. Pero su cuerpo la traicionó, su pulgar to**ndo el cristal antes de que su cerebro pudiera gritar que se detuviera. La foto se cargó lentamente en el Wi-Fi del penthouse. Era de alta resolución. Demasiado alta. Podía ver el sudor en la frente de Kieran, el destello de los flashes de los paparazzi reflejado en sus ojos. Estaba en Paris. Le había dicho que estaba en San Francisco para una reunión de la junta directiva. Pero no fue el rostro de Kieran lo que hizo que el estómago de Jocelyn se revolviera. Fue su mano. Su mano grande y cuidada estaba extendida posesivamente sobre la cintura de una mujer con un vestido plateado resplandeciente. Aspen Schneider. Jocelyn hizo zoom. Kieran estaba sonriendo. Era una sonrisa genuina, del tipo que arrugaba las comisuras de sus ojos. No había mirado a Jocelyn así en seis meses. Quizás un año. Leyó el pie de foto debajo de la imagen. "Douglas se refiere a la heredera como su 'musa de toda la vida' y 'alma gemela' en la fiesta posterior de Givenchy". Musa. Alma gemela. Jocelyn se incorporó, la habitación daba vueltas. Ella no era la novia. Se dio cuenta con una claridad que se sintió como una bo**tada. Nunca había sido la novia. Era la sustituta. El cuerpo cálido en la cama para cuando él se sentía solo. La asistente eficiente que manejaba su agenda y su libido hasta que apareciera alguien con un mejor apellido. Se quitó las sábanas de encima. El suelo de mármol estaba helado contra sus pies descalzos. Caminó de un lado a otro por la habitación, con las manos temblando sin control. Se abrazó a sí misma, tratando de mantener unida su destrozada compostura. Ding. Un banner de mensaje de texto se deslizó desde la parte superior de la pantalla. Kieran: El vuelo aterriza a las 6. Vuelo de conexión a LA por la crisis de la granja de servidores. De vuelta en NY el jueves. Ten listos los informes trimestrales. Ninguna explicación. Ninguna disculpa. Ningún "tenemos que hablar". Solo una orden. Ni siquiera sabía que ella lo había visto. O peor, no le importaba. Para él, ella era un electrodoméstico. Una cafetera que también proporcionaba s**o. Jocelyn dejó de caminar. Miró fijamente el teléfono, sus dedos temblaban mientras escribía una respuesta. Mentiroso. Eres un absoluto... Se detuvo. Lo borró. Su pulgar se mantuvo sobre la tecla de retroceso hasta que el cuadro de texto quedó vacío. La ira era un lujo que no podía permitirse. Todavía no. El teléfono sonó en su mano, sobresaltándola tanto que casi lo deja caer. El identificador de llamadas mostró una sola palabra: Madre. Jocelyn cerró los ojos, respirando hondo y con dificultad. Contestó. "Hola". "Te lo dije", la voz de Elouise Stein llegó a través de la línea, aguda y desprovista de calidez. No dijo hola. No preguntó cómo estaba Jocelyn. "Te dije que no se casaría con una Wolfe sin una dote". Jocelyn agarró el teléfono con tanta fuerza que sus nudillos se pusieron blancos. "No quiero oír esto ahora mismo". "Necesitas oírlo", espetó Elouise. "Has perdido dos años jugando a la casita con ese chico tecnológico, y ahora mírate. Humillada en la portada de todos los tabloides de New York". "Voy a colgar", dijo Jocelyn, con voz hueca. "La fusión con Henderson requiere una novia", cambió de tema Elouise al instante, su tono pasando de la burla a los negocios. "Vuelves a casa. He organizado una cena". Jocelyn sintió que la bilis le subía por la garganta. El señor Henderson tenía sesenta y dos años. Tenía una risa que sonaba como una tos húmeda y manos que se demoraban demasiado. "No me voy a casar por tus negocios", dijo Jocelyn. "No soy un activo que puedas intercambiar para cubrir tus malas inversiones". "Entonces no recibes nada", amenazó Elouise. El veneno en su voz era palpable. "El fondo fiduciario permanece bloqueado. El testamento de tu padre fue específico, Jocelyn. Recibes el control de los activos solo al casarte. Hasta entonces, yo soy la albacea. Y yo digo que no recibes nada". Jocelyn se quedó inmóvil. El fondo fiduciario. El legado de su padre. Era lo único que podía sacarla de esta vida. Era suficiente dinero para fundar su propia empresa, comprar una casa y no tener que volver a rendirle cuentas a un Douglas o a un Schneider nunca más. "La cláusula", susurró Jocelyn. "Solo dice matrimonio. No especifica con quién". "No seas estúpida", se burló Elouise. "Necesitas mi aprobación". "No", dijo Jocelyn, su mente acelerada. Recordó el documento legal que había memorizado años atrás. "Dice 'matrimonio legal'. Eso es todo". "No te atreverías", siseó Elouise. "Me casaré", declaró Jocelyn, su voz volviéndose fría, endureciéndose como el hielo. "Pero no con Henderson". "Jocelyn-" Colgó. Capítulo 2 La sala de espera del bufete de abogados olía a cera de limón y a dinero viejo. Jocelyn alisó la tela de su falda por décima vez. Estaba sentada al borde de un lujoso sillón de cuero, con la espalda rígida. El intermediario había sido eficiente. "El señor Vincent busca una candidata hoy. Esté allí a las 9". Consultó su reloj. 8:58 a. m. La pesada puerta de roble se abrió de golpe. Jocelyn se puso de pie instintivamente. Un hombre entró. No era lo que ella esperaba. Los tabloides solían mostrar a Babe Vincent saliendo a trompicones de los clubes, con la camisa desabotonada, en una imagen borrosa de movimiento y vicio. Este hombre era la quietud personificada. Era alto, de hombros anchos, y vestía un traje a la medida color carbón que le sentaba con una precisión arquitectónica. Su cabello oscuro estaba peinado impecablemente, sin un solo mechón fuera de lugar. Tenía un aire de autoridad que hacía que el ambiente en la habitación se sintiera enrarecido. A Jocelyn se le cortó la respiración. Era mucho más guapo en persona. Las fotos borrosas no le hacían justicia a la línea afilada de su mandíbula ni a la intensidad de sus ojos oscuros. El hombre se detuvo al verla. Su mano se quedó inmóvil sobre el pomo de la puerta por una fracción de segundo. Gaston Collins se quedó mirando a la mujer que estaba de pie junto al sillón. Es ella. La revelación lo golpeó como un puñetazo. La chica de la gala de hacía tres años. La del vestido azul que se había escondido en la biblioteca para leer mientras todos los demás bebían ch**pán. Él la había observado desde el balcón, cautivado, pero nunca se había acercado. Estaba con Douglas. Ahora, estaba aquí. En el despacho de un abogado conocido por arreglar matrimonios de conveniencia. Jocelyn extendió una mano, con los dedos temblándole ligeramente. "¿Señor Vincent? Soy Jocelyn Wolfe". Gaston miró su mano. Luego, la miró a la cara. Ella pensaba que él era Babe. Él enarcó una ceja. Podría corregirla. Podría decirle que era Gaston Collins, el heredero del imperio bancario Collins, y que solo estaba allí para despedir a su incompetente abogado de sucesiones. Pero si lo hacía, ella se disculparía y se marcharía. "Por favor", dijo Gaston. Su voz era profunda, un suave barítono que parecía vibrar a través del piso de madera. Le tomó la mano. Su agarre era cálido, firme y seco. "Saltémonos las formalidades". Lo decidió en esa fracción de segundo. Si ser "Babe" le conseguía una conversación, sería Babe. Se sentaron a la mesa de caoba. Jocelyn deslizó una carpeta azul sobre la superficie. "Mi propuesta", dijo ella. Su voz era firme, pero él vio el pulso latiendo en su cuello. "Un año. Estrictamente platónico. Separación de bienes". Gaston abrió la carpeta. El encabezado decía "Contrato Matrimonial". Luchó contra el impulso de sonreír. Ella quería un acuerdo de negocios. Podía trabajar con eso. "Necesito acceso a mi fondo fiduciario", explicó Jocelyn, con tono directo. "¿Y usted necesita... respetabilidad? ¿O una tapadera?". Le echó un vistazo, sus ojos escudriñando su rostro. Intentaba ser educada respecto a los rumores. Pensaba que era gay. Pensaba que necesitaba una mujer para exhibir y así apaciguar a una familia conservadora. "Una tapadera", asintió Gaston, siguiéndole el juego. Se reclinó en el sillón, estudiándola. "Mi familia es... exigente". "No exijo amor", añadió Jocelyn. Su voz flaqueó en la palabra "amor", una grieta en su armadura. "Solo una firma". Gaston la miró. Vio el agotamiento en sus ojos, la forma en que se mantenía erguida como si se preparara para un impacto. Alguien la había herido. Gravemente. Destapó una pluma estilográfica de su bolsillo. Era una Montblanc, pesada y negra. "Hecho", dijo él. Jocelyn parpadeó, atónita. "No ha discutido el pago. Ni los términos". "No necesito su dinero, señorita Wolfe". Gaston firmó el papel con un trazo elegante y seguro. Hizo la firma ilegible, un garabato afilado e irregular que podría ser cualquier cosa. Se puso de pie, abotonándose el saco. "Vamos al City Hall ahora". Jocelyn se le quedó mirando. "¿Ahora mismo?". "¿A menos que quiera esperar?", la desafió, con un destello de diversión en sus ojos oscuros. "Supongo que el tiempo apremia". Jocelyn tomó su bolso. "Vamos". Salieron del edificio y se encontraron con el cortante viento de Nueva York. Un sedán negro esperaba con el motor encendido junto a la acera. El chófer, un hombre llamado Henri que llevaba treinta años con la familia Collins, salió y abrió la puerta trasera. Miró a Gaston, luego a Jocelyn, y la confusión se reflejó fugazmente en su rostro. Gaston le lanzó una mirada. Una mirada aguda, de advertencia. No hables. Le hizo un gesto a Jocelyn para que entrara primero. Jocelyn se deslizó en el asiento de cuero. El interior olía a sándalo y a un acondicionador caro. No olía a cigarrillos rancios ni a colonia barata, que era a lo que imaginaba que olería Babe Vincent. "Es sorprendentemente caballeroso para ser un playboy degenerado", pensó ella. Gaston se deslizó a su lado. La puerta se cerró con un clic, sellando su encierro. "Al City Hall, Henri", dijo Gaston. El auto se incorporó suavemente al caótico tráfico matutino de Manhattan, llevándolos hacia una unión legal vinculante construida enteramente sobre una mentira. Capítulo 3 El sol de invierno resplandecía sobre el pavimento gris afuera de la Oficina de Matrimonios, haciendo que Jocelyn entrecerrara los ojos. Estaba hecho. Sostenía el certificado de matrimonio en su mano como un arma. El papel era frágil, pero el poder que contenía era inmenso. Era su llave. Su escudo. Sus ojos recorrían el documento, pero las palabras se volvían borrosas. En lo único que podía concentrarse era en el sello oficial y en la única y hermosa palabra en la parte superior: CASADA. Los detalles, los nombres... eran solo ruido de fondo. El objetivo estaba cumplido. "Está hecho", dijo, casi para sí misma. Gaston estaba a su lado en los escalones de concreto. Revisó su teléfono, con el ceño fruncido. "Tengo que reunirme con mis abogados", dijo él. "Haré que te envíen una llave". Jocelyn lo miró. "Todavía no me voy a mudar. Tengo cosas que arreglar. Necesito empacar". Gaston asintió. No la presionó. Parecía entender que ella necesitaba espacio para desmantelar su antigua vida antes de poder entrar en esta nueva y extraña. "Como desees", dijo él. Metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó una elegante tarjeta de presentación de color negro mate. No tenía nombre de empresa ni cargo. Solo un número de teléfono grabado en plata y un monograma en el centro: GC. Jocelyn frunció el ceño al tomar la tarjeta. "¿GC? ¿Por... Babe?". Gaston no parpadeó. "Es un apellido de familia", mintió con soltura. "Gaston. 'Babe' es un apodo que estoy tratando de dejar atrás". Ella lo aceptó. Tenía sentido. Si estaba tratando de limpiar su imagen, deshacerse de ese ridículo apodo era el primer paso. "Está bien, Gaston". Levantó una mano y un taxi amarillo se detuvo al instante, como si lo hubiera invocado solo con su voluntad. Le abrió la puerta. "Llámame", dijo él. Sonó como una orden, pero su mirada era suave. Jocelyn asintió y se deslizó dentro del taxi. Lo observó por la ventanilla trasera mientras el taxi se alejaba. Él se quedó allí, una estatua oscura contra el ajetreo de la ciudad, observándola hasta que dobló la esquina. Se volvió, con el corazón acelerado. Paso uno: Listo. Paso dos: Tierra arrasada. Sacó su teléfono. Abrió Instagram. Bloquear. Abrió WhatsApp. Bloquear. Abrió iMessage. Bloquear. Borrό a Kieran Douglas de su existencia digital. Luego, marcó. Elouise respondió al segundo timbre. "¿Y bien?", la voz de su madre era petulante. "¿Estás lista para aceptar la invitación del señor Henderson? Está muy ansioso por conocerte". "Estoy casada", anunció Jocelyn. Su voz era tranquila, firme, desprovista del miedo tembloroso que solía sentir al hablar con su madre. Silencio. Un silencio absoluto y atónito al otro lado de la línea. Luego, "¿Qué? ¿Con quién?". "Con un hombre de negocios", dijo Jocelyn. "El certificado está registrado. Libera el fideicomiso". "¡Mocosa malagradecida!", chilló Elouise. La compostura se resquebrajó. "¿Quién es él? ¿Recogiste a algún mesero? ¡Haré que lo anulen!". "Alguien con suficientes bienes como para no necesitar los tuyos", mintió Jocelyn. Esperaba que a Babe Vincent le quedara dinero. "Quiero que la escritura de la propiedad de los Wolfe en los Hamptons sea transferida para mañana". "¡Esa casa es para Aspen durante el verano!", protestó Elouise. "¡Ya está planeando su fiesta de compromiso allí!". "Era de mi padre", la interrumpió Jocelyn. "Está en el fideicomiso. Transfiérela, o mis abogados auditarán las cuentas de los Schneider". La línea volvió a quedar en silencio. La amenaza flotaba pesada en el aire. Los Schneider vivían de forma ostentosa, pero todos sabían que su liquidez era cuestionable. Una auditoría sería catastrófica. "Bien", Elouise escupió la palabra como si fuera veneno. "Quédate con la ma**ita casa. Pero no esperes ni un centavo más de mí". "No quiero tu dinero, madre. Solo quiero lo que es mío". Jocelyn colgó. Una oleada de adrenalina inundó sus venas. Se sentía como oxígeno. Por primera vez en años, podía respirar. "¿A dónde, señorita?", preguntó el taxista, observándola por el espejo retrovisor. "Al Upper West Side", dijo Jocelyn. "Al penthouse en la 72". Tenía que volver. Tenía que empacar. Cuando llegó al edificio de Kieran, el portero, un amable hombre mayor llamado Ralph, se inclinó el sombrero. La miró con ojos tristes. Probablemente también había visto el artículo de Page Six. "Buenos días, señorita Wolfe", dijo él amablemente. "Buenos días, Ralph". Tomó el ascensor, los números subiendo constantemente. 10... 20... 30... Entró en el penthouse. Estaba en silencio. Kieran aún no había vuelto. Caminó hacia la habitación de invitados. No lloró. No gritó. Simplemente se puso a trabajar. Sacó sus maletas del armario. Empacó su ropa, sus libros, sus costosos productos para el cuidado de la p**l. Quitó las sábanas que había comprado con su propio dinero. Era mezquino, pero no le importaba. No iba a dejarle nada. Fue a la cocina. Dejó su llave sobre la encimera de mármol, justo al lado de una taza de café medio vacía que Kieran había dejado hacía días. Empezaba a crecer moho en la superficie del líquido. Se miró la mano izquierda. Estaba de**uda. Se dio cuenta de que se había olvidado de conseguir un anillo. "Esposo falso, matrimonio falso", murmuró para sí misma. Arrastró sus maletas hasta el ascensor. Las ruedas retumbaron ruidosamente sobre el suelo, un sonido de finalidad. Capítulo 4 La oficina de Elbert Collins ocupaba todo el último piso de la Collins Tower. Era un espacio diseñado para intimidar, lleno de caoba oscura, cuero y el aroma a whisky añejo. Gaston entró, pasando de largo a las tres secretarias que se pusieron de pie de un salto. Arrojó el certificado de matrimonio sobre el enorme escritorio de su padre. Elbert Collins, un hombre que parecía un león en el ocaso de su vida-lleno de cicatrices, canoso, pero aún peligroso-, recogió el papel. Se ajustó las gafas. "¿Jocelyn Wolfe?", leyó Elbert el nombre. Levantó la vista, entrecerrando los ojos. "¿La chica del lío de Douglas? ¿La que salió en los periódicos esta mañana?". "Es ella", confirmó Gaston. Se acercó a la licorera de cristal y se sirvió una copa. No le ofreció a su padre. "Cree que soy Babe Vincent", añadió Gaston, tomando un sorbo. Una sonrisa socarrona se dibujó en la comisura de sus labios. Elbert se rio. Fue un sonido seco y áspero, como el de una lija sobre madera. "¿Te casaste con ella usando un seudónimo? ¿Eso es legal?". "Usé mi nombre legal", dijo Gaston. "Gaston Collins. Ella simplemente... no leyó la letra pequeña. Cree que 'Collins' es un apellido común. No se da cuenta de qué Collins". "Douglas se va a volver loco", reflexionó Elbert, dejando el certificado sobre la mesa. "Bien. Necesitamos su cuota de mercado. Si está distraído por un escándalo personal, facilita la adquisición". "Protégela", ordenó Gaston. Su voz bajó de tono, perdiendo la diversión. "Ni una filtración sobre mi identidad hasta que yo lo diga. Quiero que el equipo legal esté listo para sepultar a cualquiera que la moleste". Elbert asintió lentamente. Miró a su hijo con un nuevo respeto. "Bienvenida a la familia, Sra. Collins". Al otro lado de la ciudad, Jocelyn estaba sacando su vida a rastras del penthouse. La Sra. Higgins, el ama de llaves, entró en el pasillo justo cuando Jocelyn arrastraba la segunda maleta hacia la puerta. "¿Srta. Wolfe?", preguntó la Sra. Higgins, con las manos aferradas a un plumero. Jocelyn se giró. "Me voy, Sra. Higgins. Para siempre". El rostro de la mujer mayor se suavizó. Parecía aliviada. "Él no la merece, querida. Llevo años diciéndoselo a mi esposo". "Si pregunta", dijo Jocelyn, haciendo una pausa. "Dígale... en realidad, no le diga nada". "Soy una tumba", prometió la Sra. Higgins. Jocelyn entró en el ascensor. Las puertas se cerraron, bloqueando la vista del apartamento donde había desperdiciado dos años de su vida. Su teléfono vibró en su bolsillo. Alerta Bancaria: Línea de Crédito Activada. Patrocinada por Collins Capital Partners. Saldo Disponible: $12,000,000. Jocelyn se quedó mirando el número. Vio la palabra 'Collins', pero la descartó como el nombre de una firma financiera genérica que usaban los abogados de su madre. La cantidad era lo que importaba. Una ola de alivio la invadió, tan intensa que casi le flaquearon las rodillas. Ahora tenía recursos. Ya no era solo una novia desechada; era una mujer con capital. Llamó a un servicio de mudanzas para que recogieran el resto de sus cajas y las llevaran a un guardamuebles. Abajo, pidió un taxi. "¿A dónde?", preguntó el conductor. Jocelyn dudó. La casa de los Hamptons no estaría lista hasta mañana. El personal necesitaba prepararla. No podía ir allí esa noche. "Al Hotel Plaza", dijo Jocelyn. "Quinta Avenida". Ahora tenía dinero. Podía permitirse una suite. Mientras el taxi amarillo se alejaba de la acera, incorporándose al tráfico, una camioneta negra con los vidrios polarizados se detuvo en la entrada del edificio. La puerta se abrió y salieron dos hombres corpulentos en traje. El equipo de seguridad de Kieran. Regresaban antes de tiempo para revisar el apartamento antes de su llegada. Se la perdieron por treinta segundos. Jocelyn observó cómo el edificio se alejaba por la ventanilla trasera. Técnicamente, no tenía hogar. Pero, por primera vez, se sentía libre. Capítulo 5 Dos días después. La sala de descanso de Douglas Tech era un ambiente estéril de acero cepillado y una agresiva iluminación fluorescente. Jocelyn estaba de pie frente a la máquina de café, con la mirada perdida en el lento goteo del líquido oscuro. No debería estar aquí. Tenía el dinero. Tenía el esposo. Tenía la casa. Pero también tenía un sentido del deber profesional que rayaba en el masoquismo. Y Kieran todavía tenía las llaves físicas de la caja fuerte donde se guardaban los archivos de la fusión de Henderson. No podía simplemente enviárselos por correo electrónico. Tenía que recuperarlos y entregarlos para cerrar el círculo. Dos analistas junior entraron, riendo. No la vieron, metida en el rincón junto a la máquina. "¿Viste la publicación de Kieran esta mañana?", preguntó uno, tomando una botella de agua. "Aspen parece una reina. Ese vestido costó más que mi matrícula". "¿Y qué hay de Jocelyn?", dijo el otro tipo con una risita burlona. "¿No sigue siendo su asistente ejecutiva? Eso debe ser incómodo". "Es prácticamente un mueble", dijo el primero con desdén. "Él nunca se iba a casar con ella. Ella solo está... ahí. Esperando". Jocelyn apretó su taza. La cerámica se le clavó en la palma de la mano. Un mueble. Se dio la vuelta para irse, necesitaba salir de allí antes de gritar. Pero la máquina falló. Siseó violentamente, escupiendo un chorro de vapor hirviendo y agua caliente hacia un lado. "¡Ah!", jadeó Jocelyn, dejando caer la taza. El líquido caliente le salpicó la mano. El dolor fue instantáneo y abrasador. La taza se hizo añicos en el suelo. Los dos analistas dieron un respingo y se dieron la vuelta bruscamente. Sus rostros se pusieron pálidos cuando la vieron. "¡Señorita Wolfe! Nosotros no...". Jocelyn los ignoró. Corrió hacia el lavabo, metiendo la mano bajo el chorro de agua fría. La p**l ya se estaba poniendo de un rojo intenso y ampollado. Mandy, la recepcionista y la única persona en todo el edificio que Jocelyn toleraba, entró corriendo. "¡Jocelyn! Dios mío, oí el estruendo". Mandy vio la mano e hizo un siseo de compasión. Tomó toallas de papel y las humedeció. "Necesitas ir a la sala de urgencias. Parece una quemadura de segundo grado". "Estoy bien", dijo Jocelyn con los dientes apretados. El agua ayudaba, pero el dolor punzante era profundo. "Necesito darte algo". Sacó un sobre blanco e impecable del bolsillo de su saco con la mano sana. "Entrégale esto a RR. HH. Hoy mismo". Mandy lo tomó. Reconoció el peso del papel. "¿Vas a renunciar? ¿Antes de la Gala? Kieran se va a volver loco". "Especialmente antes de la Gala", dijo Jocelyn. "¿Dónde está Jocelyn?", retumbó la voz de Kieran desde el pasillo. Jocelyn se quedó helada. El sonido de su voz le provocó una reacción física en el estómago. No estaba lista. Todavía no. Se metió rápidamente en la escalera de emergencia justo cuando Kieran pasaba con paso decidido por la puerta de la sala de descanso. A través de la rendija de la puerta, lo vio. Se veía impecable. Bronceado, descansado, con un traje que costaba cinco mil dólares. No parecía un hombre que acabara de destruir la vida de alguien. "Yo... no la he visto, señor", oyó balbucear a un pasante. "Díganle que traiga los archivos de la fusión a la Gala esta noche", ladró Kieran, sin detenerse. "Personalmente. No quiero que un mensajero los pierda". Jocelyn se recostó contra la fría pared de concreto del hueco de la escalera. Cerró los ojos. Quería que ella le entregara los archivos en la fiesta donde iba a presentar a su nueva prometida. Era una jugada de poder. Una humillación final. Su teléfono vibró en su bolsillo. Era un mensaje de texto de "Gaston". Gaston: ¿Cenamos esta noche? Conozco un lugar que no está en el radar. Jocelyn miró la pantalla. Quería decir que sí. Quería esconderse en un reservado oscuro con el hombre misterioso que firmaba contratos sin leerlos. Pero tenía que terminar con esto. Jocelyn: Ocupada. Emergencia de trabajo. No quería que él supiera que todavía estaba haciendo recados para su ex. Era patético. Se miró la mano. Una gran ampolla se estaba formando sobre sus nudillos. Latía al ritmo de los latidos de su corazón. Se apartó de la pared. Iría a la Gala. Le daría los archivos. Y luego nunca más lo volvería a ver. &3&
Ella fue la novia clandestina del multimillonario durante dos años. Le brindó todo su apoyo sincero, pero él la recompensó con un matrimonio pactado en público y humillaciones crueles. Pisoteada su dignidad por él y su nueva pareja, despertó de una vez y decidió vengarse y vivir únicamente para sí misma. ===== Capítulo 1 Arrojó el teléfono sobre la cama y caminó hacia el ventanal. Central Park se extendía abajo, una extensa mancha de gris y marrón bajo la luz invernal. Se veía desolador. Necesitaba un esposo. Rápido. Necesitaba a alguien que no hiciera preguntas, alguien que necesitara una transacción tanto como ella. Regresó a la cama y abrió su laptop. Sus dedos volaron sobre el teclado. Babe Vincent. El nombre había estado circulando en las redes clandestinas de rumores del Upper East Side durante meses. Un playboy escandaloso. Repudiado por la mitad de su familia. Se rumoreaba que estaba muy endeudado con la gente equivocada, o quizás que intentaba ocultar una sexualidad que lo dejaría sin el resto de su herencia. Los rumores decían que estaba desesperado por una tapadera. Una fachada. Encontró el contacto de un bufete de abogados discreto que manejaba "gestión de reputación sensible". Tecleó rápidamente, su corazón martilleaba contra sus costillas como un pájaro atrapado. Solicitud: Negociación de Contrato Urgente. Cliente: Jocelyn Wolfe. Presionó enviar. Miró su reflejo en el oscuro cristal de la ventana. Tenía el pelo desordenado, los ojos bordeados de rojo, pero su mandíbula estaba tensa. "No más sustitutos", susurró a la habitación vacía. La vibración del teléfono contra la mesita de noche de caoba no era un zumbido suave. Era un taladro, perforando el silencio de la habitación de invitados a las 6:00 AM. Jocelyn Wolfe apretó los ojos con fuerza, deseando que el ruido desapareciera, pero el zumbido persistía, haciendo vibrar el vaso de agua que había dejado allí la noche anterior. Se dio la vuelta, las costosas sábanas de algodón egipcio enredándose en sus piernas. Se sentían frías. Todo en el penthouse de Kieran Douglas se sentía frío, diseñado por la estética más que por la comodidad. Extendió la mano, sus dedos buscaron a tientas hasta que tocaron el liso metal de su smartphone. Entrecerró los ojos ante la dura luz azul de la pantalla. No era una alarma. Era una avalancha. Notificación tras notificación se apilaban como ladrillos en la pantalla de bloqueo. Twitter. Instagram. Apple News. Y justo en la parte superior, el banner rojo de una alerta de Page Six. El magnate tecnológico Kieran Douglas estrena romance con Aspen Schneider. A Jocelyn se le cortó la respiración en la garganta, un dolor agudo y físico que se irradiaba desde su pe**o hasta su estómago. Su pulgar flotó sobre la notificación. No quería abrirla. Sabía lo que vería. Pero su cuerpo la traicionó, su pulgar to**ndo el cristal antes de que su cerebro pudiera gritar que se detuviera. La foto se cargó lentamente en el Wi-Fi del penthouse. Era de alta resolución. Demasiado alta. Podía ver el sudor en la frente de Kieran, el destello de los flashes de los paparazzi reflejado en sus ojos. Estaba en Paris. Le había dicho que estaba en San Francisco para una reunión de la junta directiva. Pero no fue el rostro de Kieran lo que hizo que el estómago de Jocelyn se revolviera. Fue su mano. Su mano grande y cuidada estaba extendida posesivamente sobre la cintura de una mujer con un vestido plateado resplandeciente. Aspen Schneider. Jocelyn hizo zoom. Kieran estaba sonriendo. Era una sonrisa genuina, del tipo que arrugaba las comisuras de sus ojos. No había mirado a Jocelyn así en seis meses. Quizás un año. Leyó el pie de foto debajo de la imagen. "Douglas se refiere a la heredera como su 'musa de toda la vida' y 'alma gemela' en la fiesta posterior de Givenchy". Musa. Alma gemela. Jocelyn se incorporó, la habitación daba vueltas. Ella no era la novia. Se dio cuenta con una claridad que se sintió como una bo**tada. Nunca había sido la novia. Era la sustituta. El cuerpo cálido en la cama para cuando él se sentía solo. La asistente eficiente que manejaba su agenda y su libido hasta que apareciera alguien con un mejor apellido. Se quitó las sábanas de encima. El suelo de mármol estaba helado contra sus pies descalzos. Caminó de un lado a otro por la habitación, con las manos temblando sin control. Se abrazó a sí misma, tratando de mantener unida su destrozada compostura. Ding. Un banner de mensaje de texto se deslizó desde la parte superior de la pantalla. Kieran: El vuelo aterriza a las 6. Vuelo de conexión a LA por la crisis de la granja de servidores. De vuelta en NY el jueves. Ten listos los informes trimestrales. Ninguna explicación. Ninguna disculpa. Ningún "tenemos que hablar". Solo una orden. Ni siquiera sabía que ella lo había visto. O peor, no le importaba. Para él, ella era un electrodoméstico. Una cafetera que también proporcionaba s**o. Jocelyn dejó de caminar. Miró fijamente el teléfono, sus dedos temblaban mientras escribía una respuesta. Mentiroso. Eres un absoluto... Se detuvo. Lo borró. Su pulgar se mantuvo sobre la tecla de retroceso hasta que el cuadro de texto quedó vacío. La ira era un lujo que no podía permitirse. Todavía no. El teléfono sonó en su mano, sobresaltándola tanto que casi lo deja caer. El identificador de llamadas mostró una sola palabra: Madre. Jocelyn cerró los ojos, respirando hondo y con dificultad. Contestó. "Hola". "Te lo dije", la voz de Elouise Stein llegó a través de la línea, aguda y desprovista de calidez. No dijo hola. No preguntó cómo estaba Jocelyn. "Te dije que no se casaría con una Wolfe sin una dote". Jocelyn agarró el teléfono con tanta fuerza que sus nudillos se pusieron blancos. "No quiero oír esto ahora mismo". "Necesitas oírlo", espetó Elouise. "Has perdido dos años jugando a la casita con ese chico tecnológico, y ahora mírate. Humillada en la portada de todos los tabloides de New York". "Voy a colgar", dijo Jocelyn, con voz hueca. "La fusión con Henderson requiere una novia", cambió de tema Elouise al instante, su tono pasando de la burla a los negocios. "Vuelves a casa. He organizado una cena". Jocelyn sintió que la bilis le subía por la garganta. El señor Henderson tenía sesenta y dos años. Tenía una risa que sonaba como una tos húmeda y manos que se demoraban demasiado. "No me voy a casar por tus negocios", dijo Jocelyn. "No soy un activo que puedas intercambiar para cubrir tus malas inversiones". "Entonces no recibes nada", amenazó Elouise. El veneno en su voz era palpable. "El fondo fiduciario permanece bloqueado. El testamento de tu padre fue específico, Jocelyn. Recibes el control de los activos solo al casarte. Hasta entonces, yo soy la albacea. Y yo digo que no recibes nada". Jocelyn se quedó inmóvil. El fondo fiduciario. El legado de su padre. Era lo único que podía sacarla de esta vida. Era suficiente dinero para fundar su propia empresa, comprar una casa y no tener que volver a rendirle cuentas a un Douglas o a un Schneider nunca más. "La cláusula", susurró Jocelyn. "Solo dice matrimonio. No especifica con quién". "No seas estúpida", se burló Elouise. "Necesitas mi aprobación". "No", dijo Jocelyn, su mente acelerada. Recordó el documento legal que había memorizado años atrás. "Dice 'matrimonio legal'. Eso es todo". "No te atreverías", siseó Elouise. "Me casaré", declaró Jocelyn, su voz volviéndose fría, endureciéndose como el hielo. "Pero no con Henderson". "Jocelyn-" Colgó. Capítulo 2 La sala de espera del bufete de abogados olía a cera de limón y a dinero viejo. Jocelyn alisó la tela de su falda por décima vez. Estaba sentada al borde de un lujoso sillón de cuero, con la espalda rígida. El intermediario había sido eficiente. "El señor Vincent busca una candidata hoy. Esté allí a las 9". Consultó su reloj. 8:58 a. m. La pesada puerta de roble se abrió de golpe. Jocelyn se puso de pie instintivamente. Un hombre entró. No era lo que ella esperaba. Los tabloides solían mostrar a Babe Vincent saliendo a trompicones de los clubes, con la camisa desabotonada, en una imagen borrosa de movimiento y vicio. Este hombre era la quietud personificada. Era alto, de hombros anchos, y vestía un traje a la medida color carbón que le sentaba con una precisión arquitectónica. Su cabello oscuro estaba peinado impecablemente, sin un solo mechón fuera de lugar. Tenía un aire de autoridad que hacía que el ambiente en la habitación se sintiera enrarecido. A Jocelyn se le cortó la respiración. Era mucho más guapo en persona. Las fotos borrosas no le hacían justicia a la línea afilada de su mandíbula ni a la intensidad de sus ojos oscuros. El hombre se detuvo al verla. Su mano se quedó inmóvil sobre el pomo de la puerta por una fracción de segundo. Gaston Collins se quedó mirando a la mujer que estaba de pie junto al sillón. Es ella. La revelación lo golpeó como un puñetazo. La chica de la gala de hacía tres años. La del vestido azul que se había escondido en la biblioteca para leer mientras todos los demás bebían ch**pán. Él la había observado desde el balcón, cautivado, pero nunca se había acercado. Estaba con Douglas. Ahora, estaba aquí. En el despacho de un abogado conocido por arreglar matrimonios de conveniencia. Jocelyn extendió una mano, con los dedos temblándole ligeramente. "¿Señor Vincent? Soy Jocelyn Wolfe". Gaston miró su mano. Luego, la miró a la cara. Ella pensaba que él era Babe. Él enarcó una ceja. Podría corregirla. Podría decirle que era Gaston Collins, el heredero del imperio bancario Collins, y que solo estaba allí para despedir a su incompetente abogado de sucesiones. Pero si lo hacía, ella se disculparía y se marcharía. "Por favor", dijo Gaston. Su voz era profunda, un suave barítono que parecía vibrar a través del piso de madera. Le tomó la mano. Su agarre era cálido, firme y seco. "Saltémonos las formalidades". Lo decidió en esa fracción de segundo. Si ser "Babe" le conseguía una conversación, sería Babe. Se sentaron a la mesa de caoba. Jocelyn deslizó una carpeta azul sobre la superficie. "Mi propuesta", dijo ella. Su voz era firme, pero él vio el pulso latiendo en su cuello. "Un año. Estrictamente platónico. Separación de bienes". Gaston abrió la carpeta. El encabezado decía "Contrato Matrimonial". Luchó contra el impulso de sonreír. Ella quería un acuerdo de negocios. Podía trabajar con eso. "Necesito acceso a mi fondo fiduciario", explicó Jocelyn, con tono directo. "¿Y usted necesita... respetabilidad? ¿O una tapadera?". Le echó un vistazo, sus ojos escudriñando su rostro. Intentaba ser educada respecto a los rumores. Pensaba que era gay. Pensaba que necesitaba una mujer para exhibir y así apaciguar a una familia conservadora. "Una tapadera", asintió Gaston, siguiéndole el juego. Se reclinó en el sillón, estudiándola. "Mi familia es... exigente". "No exijo amor", añadió Jocelyn. Su voz flaqueó en la palabra "amor", una grieta en su armadura. "Solo una firma". Gaston la miró. Vio el agotamiento en sus ojos, la forma en que se mantenía erguida como si se preparara para un impacto. Alguien la había herido. Gravemente. Destapó una pluma estilográfica de su bolsillo. Era una Montblanc, pesada y negra. "Hecho", dijo él. Jocelyn parpadeó, atónita. "No ha discutido el pago. Ni los términos". "No necesito su dinero, señorita Wolfe". Gaston firmó el papel con un trazo elegante y seguro. Hizo la firma ilegible, un garabato afilado e irregular que podría ser cualquier cosa. Se puso de pie, abotonándose el saco. "Vamos al City Hall ahora". Jocelyn se le quedó mirando. "¿Ahora mismo?". "¿A menos que quiera esperar?", la desafió, con un destello de diversión en sus ojos oscuros. "Supongo que el tiempo apremia". Jocelyn tomó su bolso. "Vamos". Salieron del edificio y se encontraron con el cortante viento de Nueva York. Un sedán negro esperaba con el motor encendido junto a la acera. El chófer, un hombre llamado Henri que llevaba treinta años con la familia Collins, salió y abrió la puerta trasera. Miró a Gaston, luego a Jocelyn, y la confusión se reflejó fugazmente en su rostro. Gaston le lanzó una mirada. Una mirada aguda, de advertencia. No hables. Le hizo un gesto a Jocelyn para que entrara primero. Jocelyn se deslizó en el asiento de cuero. El interior olía a sándalo y a un acondicionador caro. No olía a cigarrillos rancios ni a colonia barata, que era a lo que imaginaba que olería Babe Vincent. "Es sorprendentemente caballeroso para ser un playboy degenerado", pensó ella. Gaston se deslizó a su lado. La puerta se cerró con un clic, sellando su encierro. "Al City Hall, Henri", dijo Gaston. El auto se incorporó suavemente al caótico tráfico matutino de Manhattan, llevándolos hacia una unión legal vinculante construida enteramente sobre una mentira. Capítulo 3 El sol de invierno resplandecía sobre el pavimento gris afuera de la Oficina de Matrimonios, haciendo que Jocelyn entrecerrara los ojos. Estaba hecho. Sostenía el certificado de matrimonio en su mano como un arma. El papel era frágil, pero el poder que contenía era inmenso. Era su llave. Su escudo. Sus ojos recorrían el documento, pero las palabras se volvían borrosas. En lo único que podía concentrarse era en el sello oficial y en la única y hermosa palabra en la parte superior: CASADA. Los detalles, los nombres... eran solo ruido de fondo. El objetivo estaba cumplido. "Está hecho", dijo, casi para sí misma. Gaston estaba a su lado en los escalones de concreto. Revisó su teléfono, con el ceño fruncido. "Tengo que reunirme con mis abogados", dijo él. "Haré que te envíen una llave". Jocelyn lo miró. "Todavía no me voy a mudar. Tengo cosas que arreglar. Necesito empacar". Gaston asintió. No la presionó. Parecía entender que ella necesitaba espacio para desmantelar su antigua vida antes de poder entrar en esta nueva y extraña. "Como desees", dijo él. Metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó una elegante tarjeta de presentación de color negro mate. No tenía nombre de empresa ni cargo. Solo un número de teléfono grabado en plata y un monograma en el centro: GC. Jocelyn frunció el ceño al tomar la tarjeta. "¿GC? ¿Por... Babe?". Gaston no parpadeó. "Es un apellido de familia", mintió con soltura. "Gaston. 'Babe' es un apodo que estoy tratando de dejar atrás". Ella lo aceptó. Tenía sentido. Si estaba tratando de limpiar su imagen, deshacerse de ese ridículo apodo era el primer paso. "Está bien, Gaston". Levantó una mano y un taxi amarillo se detuvo al instante, como si lo hubiera invocado solo con su voluntad. Le abrió la puerta. "Llámame", dijo él. Sonó como una orden, pero su mirada era suave. Jocelyn asintió y se deslizó dentro del taxi. Lo observó por la ventanilla trasera mientras el taxi se alejaba. Él se quedó allí, una estatua oscura contra el ajetreo de la ciudad, observándola hasta que dobló la esquina. Se volvió, con el corazón acelerado. Paso uno: Listo. Paso dos: Tierra arrasada. Sacó su teléfono. Abrió Instagram. Bloquear. Abrió WhatsApp. Bloquear. Abrió iMessage. Bloquear. Borrό a Kieran Douglas de su existencia digital. Luego, marcó. Elouise respondió al segundo timbre. "¿Y bien?", la voz de su madre era petulante. "¿Estás lista para aceptar la invitación del señor Henderson? Está muy ansioso por conocerte". "Estoy casada", anunció Jocelyn. Su voz era tranquila, firme, desprovista del miedo tembloroso que solía sentir al hablar con su madre. Silencio. Un silencio absoluto y atónito al otro lado de la línea. Luego, "¿Qué? ¿Con quién?". "Con un hombre de negocios", dijo Jocelyn. "El certificado está registrado. Libera el fideicomiso". "¡Mocosa malagradecida!", chilló Elouise. La compostura se resquebrajó. "¿Quién es él? ¿Recogiste a algún mesero? ¡Haré que lo anulen!". "Alguien con suficientes bienes como para no necesitar los tuyos", mintió Jocelyn. Esperaba que a Babe Vincent le quedara dinero. "Quiero que la escritura de la propiedad de los Wolfe en los Hamptons sea transferida para mañana". "¡Esa casa es para Aspen durante el verano!", protestó Elouise. "¡Ya está planeando su fiesta de compromiso allí!". "Era de mi padre", la interrumpió Jocelyn. "Está en el fideicomiso. Transfiérela, o mis abogados auditarán las cuentas de los Schneider". La línea volvió a quedar en silencio. La amenaza flotaba pesada en el aire. Los Schneider vivían de forma ostentosa, pero todos sabían que su liquidez era cuestionable. Una auditoría sería catastrófica. "Bien", Elouise escupió la palabra como si fuera veneno. "Quédate con la ma**ita casa. Pero no esperes ni un centavo más de mí". "No quiero tu dinero, madre. Solo quiero lo que es mío". Jocelyn colgó. Una oleada de adrenalina inundó sus venas. Se sentía como oxígeno. Por primera vez en años, podía respirar. "¿A dónde, señorita?", preguntó el taxista, observándola por el espejo retrovisor. "Al Upper West Side", dijo Jocelyn. "Al penthouse en la 72". Tenía que volver. Tenía que empacar. Cuando llegó al edificio de Kieran, el portero, un amable hombre mayor llamado Ralph, se inclinó el sombrero. La miró con ojos tristes. Probablemente también había visto el artículo de Page Six. "Buenos días, señorita Wolfe", dijo él amablemente. "Buenos días, Ralph". Tomó el ascensor, los números subiendo constantemente. 10... 20... 30... Entró en el penthouse. Estaba en silencio. Kieran aún no había vuelto. Caminó hacia la habitación de invitados. No lloró. No gritó. Simplemente se puso a trabajar. Sacó sus maletas del armario. Empacó su ropa, sus libros, sus costosos productos para el cuidado de la p**l. Quitó las sábanas que había comprado con su propio dinero. Era mezquino, pero no le importaba. No iba a dejarle nada. Fue a la cocina. Dejó su llave sobre la encimera de mármol, justo al lado de una taza de café medio vacía que Kieran había dejado hacía días. Empezaba a crecer moho en la superficie del líquido. Se miró la mano izquierda. Estaba de**uda. Se dio cuenta de que se había olvidado de conseguir un anillo. "Esposo falso, matrimonio falso", murmuró para sí misma. Arrastró sus maletas hasta el ascensor. Las ruedas retumbaron ruidosamente sobre el suelo, un sonido de finalidad. Capítulo 4 La oficina de Elbert Collins ocupaba todo el último piso de la Collins Tower. Era un espacio diseñado para intimidar, lleno de caoba oscura, cuero y el aroma a whisky añejo. Gaston entró, pasando de largo a las tres secretarias que se pusieron de pie de un salto. Arrojó el certificado de matrimonio sobre el enorme escritorio de su padre. Elbert Collins, un hombre que parecía un león en el ocaso de su vida-lleno de cicatrices, canoso, pero aún peligroso-, recogió el papel. Se ajustó las gafas. "¿Jocelyn Wolfe?", leyó Elbert el nombre. Levantó la vista, entrecerrando los ojos. "¿La chica del lío de Douglas? ¿La que salió en los periódicos esta mañana?". "Es ella", confirmó Gaston. Se acercó a la licorera de cristal y se sirvió una copa. No le ofreció a su padre. "Cree que soy Babe Vincent", añadió Gaston, tomando un sorbo. Una sonrisa socarrona se dibujó en la comisura de sus labios. Elbert se rio. Fue un sonido seco y áspero, como el de una lija sobre madera. "¿Te casaste con ella usando un seudónimo? ¿Eso es legal?". "Usé mi nombre legal", dijo Gaston. "Gaston Collins. Ella simplemente... no leyó la letra pequeña. Cree que 'Collins' es un apellido común. No se da cuenta de qué Collins". "Douglas se va a volver loco", reflexionó Elbert, dejando el certificado sobre la mesa. "Bien. Necesitamos su cuota de mercado. Si está distraído por un escándalo personal, facilita la adquisición". "Protégela", ordenó Gaston. Su voz bajó de tono, perdiendo la diversión. "Ni una filtración sobre mi identidad hasta que yo lo diga. Quiero que el equipo legal esté listo para sepultar a cualquiera que la moleste". Elbert asintió lentamente. Miró a su hijo con un nuevo respeto. "Bienvenida a la familia, Sra. Collins". Al otro lado de la ciudad, Jocelyn estaba sacando su vida a rastras del penthouse. La Sra. Higgins, el ama de llaves, entró en el pasillo justo cuando Jocelyn arrastraba la segunda maleta hacia la puerta. "¿Srta. Wolfe?", preguntó la Sra. Higgins, con las manos aferradas a un plumero. Jocelyn se giró. "Me voy, Sra. Higgins. Para siempre". El rostro de la mujer mayor se suavizó. Parecía aliviada. "Él no la merece, querida. Llevo años diciéndoselo a mi esposo". "Si pregunta", dijo Jocelyn, haciendo una pausa. "Dígale... en realidad, no le diga nada". "Soy una tumba", prometió la Sra. Higgins. Jocelyn entró en el ascensor. Las puertas se cerraron, bloqueando la vista del apartamento donde había desperdiciado dos años de su vida. Su teléfono vibró en su bolsillo. Alerta Bancaria: Línea de Crédito Activada. Patrocinada por Collins Capital Partners. Saldo Disponible: $12,000,000. Jocelyn se quedó mirando el número. Vio la palabra 'Collins', pero la descartó como el nombre de una firma financiera genérica que usaban los abogados de su madre. La cantidad era lo que importaba. Una ola de alivio la invadió, tan intensa que casi le flaquearon las rodillas. Ahora tenía recursos. Ya no era solo una novia desechada; era una mujer con capital. Llamó a un servicio de mudanzas para que recogieran el resto de sus cajas y las llevaran a un guardamuebles. Abajo, pidió un taxi. "¿A dónde?", preguntó el conductor. Jocelyn dudó. La casa de los Hamptons no estaría lista hasta mañana. El personal necesitaba prepararla. No podía ir allí esa noche. "Al Hotel Plaza", dijo Jocelyn. "Quinta Avenida". Ahora tenía dinero. Podía permitirse una suite. Mientras el taxi amarillo se alejaba de la acera, incorporándose al tráfico, una camioneta negra con los vidrios polarizados se detuvo en la entrada del edificio. La puerta se abrió y salieron dos hombres corpulentos en traje. El equipo de seguridad de Kieran. Regresaban antes de tiempo para revisar el apartamento antes de su llegada. Se la perdieron por treinta segundos. Jocelyn observó cómo el edificio se alejaba por la ventanilla trasera. Técnicamente, no tenía hogar. Pero, por primera vez, se sentía libre. Capítulo 5 Dos días después. La sala de descanso de Douglas Tech era un ambiente estéril de acero cepillado y una agresiva iluminación fluorescente. Jocelyn estaba de pie frente a la máquina de café, con la mirada perdida en el lento goteo del líquido oscuro. No debería estar aquí. Tenía el dinero. Tenía el esposo. Tenía la casa. Pero también tenía un sentido del deber profesional que rayaba en el masoquismo. Y Kieran todavía tenía las llaves físicas de la caja fuerte donde se guardaban los archivos de la fusión de Henderson. No podía simplemente enviárselos por correo electrónico. Tenía que recuperarlos y entregarlos para cerrar el círculo. Dos analistas junior entraron, riendo. No la vieron, metida en el rincón junto a la máquina. "¿Viste la publicación de Kieran esta mañana?", preguntó uno, tomando una botella de agua. "Aspen parece una reina. Ese vestido costó más que mi matrícula". "¿Y qué hay de Jocelyn?", dijo el otro tipo con una risita burlona. "¿No sigue siendo su asistente ejecutiva? Eso debe ser incómodo". "Es prácticamente un mueble", dijo el primero con desdén. "Él nunca se iba a casar con ella. Ella solo está... ahí. Esperando". Jocelyn apretó su taza. La cerámica se le clavó en la palma de la mano. Un mueble. Se dio la vuelta para irse, necesitaba salir de allí antes de gritar. Pero la máquina falló. Siseó violentamente, escupiendo un chorro de vapor hirviendo y agua caliente hacia un lado. "¡Ah!", jadeó Jocelyn, dejando caer la taza. El líquido caliente le salpicó la mano. El dolor fue instantáneo y abrasador. La taza se hizo añicos en el suelo. Los dos analistas dieron un respingo y se dieron la vuelta bruscamente. Sus rostros se pusieron pálidos cuando la vieron. "¡Señorita Wolfe! Nosotros no...". Jocelyn los ignoró. Corrió hacia el lavabo, metiendo la mano bajo el chorro de agua fría. La p**l ya se estaba poniendo de un rojo intenso y ampollado. Mandy, la recepcionista y la única persona en todo el edificio que Jocelyn toleraba, entró corriendo. "¡Jocelyn! Dios mío, oí el estruendo". Mandy vio la mano e hizo un siseo de compasión. Tomó toallas de papel y las humedeció. "Necesitas ir a la sala de urgencias. Parece una quemadura de segundo grado". "Estoy bien", dijo Jocelyn con los dientes apretados. El agua ayudaba, pero el dolor punzante era profundo. "Necesito darte algo". Sacó un sobre blanco e impecable del bolsillo de su saco con la mano sana. "Entrégale esto a RR. HH. Hoy mismo". Mandy lo tomó. Reconoció el peso del papel. "¿Vas a renunciar? ¿Antes de la Gala? Kieran se va a volver loco". "Especialmente antes de la Gala", dijo Jocelyn. "¿Dónde está Jocelyn?", retumbó la voz de Kieran desde el pasillo. Jocelyn se quedó helada. El sonido de su voz le provocó una reacción física en el estómago. No estaba lista. Todavía no. Se metió rápidamente en la escalera de emergencia justo cuando Kieran pasaba con paso decidido por la puerta de la sala de descanso. A través de la rendija de la puerta, lo vio. Se veía impecable. Bronceado, descansado, con un traje que costaba cinco mil dólares. No parecía un hombre que acabara de destruir la vida de alguien. "Yo... no la he visto, señor", oyó balbucear a un pasante. "Díganle que traiga los archivos de la fusión a la Gala esta noche", ladró Kieran, sin detenerse. "Personalmente. No quiero que un mensajero los pierda". Jocelyn se recostó contra la fría pared de concreto del hueco de la escalera. Cerró los ojos. Quería que ella le entregara los archivos en la fiesta donde iba a presentar a su nueva prometida. Era una jugada de poder. Una humillación final. Su teléfono vibró en su bolsillo. Era un mensaje de texto de "Gaston". Gaston: ¿Cenamos esta noche? Conozco un lugar que no está en el radar. Jocelyn miró la pantalla. Quería decir que sí. Quería esconderse en un reservado oscuro con el hombre misterioso que firmaba contratos sin leerlos. Pero tenía que terminar con esto. Jocelyn: Ocupada. Emergencia de trabajo. No quería que él supiera que todavía estaba haciendo recados para su ex. Era patético. Se miró la mano. Una gran ampolla se estaba formando sobre sus nudillos. Latía al ritmo de los latidos de su corazón. Se apartó de la pared. Iría a la Gala. Le daría los archivos. Y luego nunca más lo volvería a ver. &3&
I'd just picked up my soup spoon when Raphael Gunning told me we'd have to put off getting our marriage license. "We'll do it some other day." Raphael set down his fork, his tone casual, like he was just commenting on the weather. I took a sip of soup. "Alright." He glanced at me, then looked down to pick up some food with his fork, only to lift his eyes toward me again. "You're not upset?" I took another sip of soup, my voice steady. "No." We held our wedding six months ago, and this was the seventeenth time we'd put off getting our marriage license. He was used to this. So was I. After I finished my meal, I stood up to clear the table. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. "McKinley, I swear I'll be free next Monday. "We already had the wedding anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. "You can trust me. I won't bail on you this time." I stared at his hand holding mine, then lifted my gaze to meet his eyes and smiled, "Okay." Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, promised "for sure" thirteen times, and told me to "trust him" sixteen times. Still, we never got our marriage certificate. And next week would be no different—because this time, I'd be the one to stand him up. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the law firm's HR. "You're resigning? Does Mr. Gunning know?" I held my phone and stepped outside while Raphael stayed sitting at the dining table. He stared at me with a strange expression, hesitated for a moment, then spoke tentatively, "Why aren't you asking me why this time?" I replied to HR's message first before turning my attention to Raphael. "It doesn't matter anymore." I meant every single word. The first time we planned to get our marriage certificate, his intern, Valerie Huxley, said she had a stomachache. I sat on a bench outside the city hall from dawn till dusk and went home alone. The second time, Valerie said she couldn't figure out how to put together a case spreadsheet. He'd left me stranded at a busy highway exit and rushed straight back to the firm without a second glance. Every time after that, whenever we set a date for our marriage license, Valerie would suddenly have some sort of emergency. Over the past six months, this same scene had played out seventeen times. Raphael froze at my words. His Adam's apple bobbed. After a short silence, he held his phone out to me. "A lot of people hire photographers to film them when they get their marriage certificate these days. "We should do that too. You've always loved that kind of romantic gesture, right?" So, he did remember I loved simple romantic moments. I thought for a second and asked, "Are you free tonight? Let's go out for..." I intended to ask him out for a final meal, but his phone rang before I finished speaking. The call was from his trainee, Valerie. I couldn't hear what she said on the other end, but after he hung up, Raphael looked at me. "Honey, Val..." I cut him off with a soft smile. "Go on. Drive safe." Raphael froze, clearly surprised by how calm I was being. But after a moment, he got dressed and headed out. "I'll bring you a gift when I come back tonight." The door slammed shut with a loud thud. Soon, I heard a car start and drive away right after. I stood there, staring at the closed door. Five years together, six months of a wedding— I should've let go of this relationship a long time ago. Chapter 2 That afternoon, I went into the office and handed my resignation letter straight to HR. She looked at me, her expression a mix of regret and confusion. "You and Mr. Gunning are the firm's golden team. At your wedding six months ago, even the partners came to congratulate you, not to mention all those clients. "Everyone was so envious of you back then. Why are you leaving all of a sudden?" I thought about our wedding six months ago: having a hundred and ten tables of guests, red carpets laid out, and flowers everywhere. Raphael held my hand and promised he'd protect me for the rest of my life. It had been a grand celebration, a perfect day. But no matter how wonderful it had been, those days were long gone. It was past ten o'clock at night when I got home after handing in my resignation. The house was eerily quiet and empty. Just then, an Instagram post from Valerie popped up on my phone. She'd tagged me directly. "Thanks to my mentor for staying with me all afternoon. In return, I'll take him to a concert tomorrow." I knew Raphael, who'd said he'd come home at noon, wasn't coming back. This had happened far too many times in the six months since we'd held the wedding. I ate dinner and didn't save any food for Raphael like I used to. Instead, I opened my email, which held job offers from law firms in over a dozen countries. I moved my mouse to the one from France, accepted the offer without hesitation, and booked a flight to Paris in two days. --- The next morning, I started packing. In the master bedroom closet, my clothes were on the left and Raphael's on the right. Raphael would have never worn those bright, colorful shirts before. But after Valerie came, she said they made him look approachable and more popular with clients. Since then, he'd stop wearing the tailored high-end suits I'd carefully picked out for him. I smiled faintly and placed my own clothes into the suitcase. I was only halfway done when Raphael came home. He was wearing a pink shirt, and it smelled like Valerie's favorite perfume. When he saw me, he froze briefly before explaining instinctively, "Val insisted on going shopping last night. It was too late to drive home, so I stayed in a hotel room." I nodded and said nothing. It was the first time he'd volunteered an explanation in six months of marriage. He took two steps closer, his eyes landing on the suitcase. "Are you going on a business trip?" "Yeah." For some reason, he looked relieved. "I have things to do today. I just came back to grab something." "Alright." I kept folding clothes without looking up. I'd planned to tell him I quit over lunch, but now it seemed unnecessary. He murmured in response, pulled out a red gift bag, grabbed his coat by the door, and hurried off. The second the door closed, the photo frame that had hung on the wall for six months crashed down, sending shards of glass flying. It was our wedding photo. In it, he wore the suit I'd picked out, and I wore my wedding dress. Back then, he told me he'd love me, cherish me, and care for me forever. I'd teared up and smiled like an idiot. But once Valerie showed up, he'd forgotten all those promises. I stared at the photo for a long time before cleaning up the broken glass. Then I threw the happy photo into the trash can, gone, along with the last of my feelings for him. Chapter 3 That evening, I'd just lain down on the bed when my best friend called. "Have you checked Instagram? What's going on with Raphael and Valerie?!" I unlocked my phone and saw Valerie had just posted a new update. It was a nine-photo grid, with a new necklace around her neck as the centerpiece. The caption read, "Happy 22nd birthday to me. Thanks for the gift, Mr. Gunning." In the bottom-right picture, half of a red gift bag was visible. So, Raphael had come home at noon just to grab Valerie's birthday present. My bestie kept ranting over the phone, "You've only been married six months, and she's already pulling this? What is wrong with Raphael?" "We never got our marriage certificate." Dead silence filled the line. After a long moment, her voice came through, thick with disbelief. "What?" "We had the wedding, but we never officially got married," I explained, my voice completely flat. There was another long pause. Finally, her voice dropped, laced with sympathy. "What are you going to do?" I glanced at my packed suitcase. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow. A law firm over there offered me a job a while back." "He's not stopping you?" "He has no idea." And he wouldn't care even if he did. Ending the call, I checked Valerie's Instagram again. After a moment, I liked the post, considering it a final blessing before I left for good. At ten o'clock that night, Raphael came home. He walked in and reached to hang up his coat as usual, but froze halfway. "Where's the photo by the door?" He didn't even hang up his coat before walking into the bedroom, his voice slightly panicked. "Honey, where's our picture?" I leaned against the headboard and said calmly, "It fell and broke." At that, he glanced at the broken glass in the trash can and relaxed. Then he pulled a Louis Vuitton bag out of his own and held it out. "I said I'd get you a gift yesterday but didn't have time. Today... I made up for it." I froze for a second. Only then did I remember him saying yesterday morning, "I'll bring a gift when I come home tonight." I hadn't expected him to remember. Then, I saw the time on the receipt, from half an hour earlier. He'd probably felt guilty after seeing I liked Valerie's post, so he'd stopped at a store on the way home and bought a bag to make up for it. I didn't take it or say anything. Raphael set the bag on the bed, hesitating. "By the way, about the firm's Employee of the Month award next month, could you..." "Let Valerie have it?" He looked surprised I'd said it first and nodded awkwardly. "She's just starting out and really needs this recognition. You've won it several times already..." So, even this last-minute gift came with strings attached. I nodded. "Alright." Chapter 4 He looked stunned—probably hadn't expected me to agree so easily. "You're not mad?" I shook my head. There was nothing to be angry about. From now on, I didn't need any of the things she wanted—whether it was the Employee of the Month award or Raphael's favor. He relaxed and added, "Val is my trainee, and you're my wife. It's only right that you're generous. "Oh, and let's go to city hall tomorrow morning." I stared at him and said nothing. He seemed to remember something. "I almost forgot you're going on a business trip. What time is your flight tomorrow?" "Three PM." "Then we have time," he said at once, his tone firm. "Meet me at the city hall at ten AM. I've already hired a photographer and put down a deposit." I was about to tell him it wasn't necessary, that we didn't need to do this anymore. But his phone rang again, right on cue. Valerie's name flashed on the screen. He picked up, and her sweet voice came through the screen, saying her stomach hurt terribly and asking if he could take her to the hospital. He hung up, and for once, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. I said, "Go." He looked relieved and pulled me into a quick hug. "Dress nicely tomorrow. I'll be there, I promise. No last-minute cancellations." With that, he grabbed his coat and left. The second the door closed, I glanced at the LV bag on the bed. The receipt was still tucked inside. I didn't open it, but put it back in the bag exactly as it was and placed it on the top shelf of the closet. Up there were two more bags of the same style, different colors—all his previous "impulse buys." --- The next morning at 9:30, I zipped up my last suitcase and took one last look at the room. In the closet, Raphael's clothes hung neatly in a row. The other side was empty. At 9:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled appointment to get the marriage certificate, I called a cab and left for the airport. At ten o'clock, he still hadn't texted me or called me. And by noon, I still hadn't received a call from Raphael asking why I hadn't shown up. That afternoon, I picked up my boarding pass and walked to the gate. Just as I was about to board, my phone finally buzzed. It was two messages from Raphael, sent one right after the other. "Honey, Val's in the hospital and I can't leave her. I don't think I can make it to the marriage registration today." "When you get back from this trip, I'll pick you up at the airport, and we'll go straight to the city hall. I won't let anything get in the way this time." Reading his messages, I felt nothing. Sure enough, for the eighteenth time, he'd bailed on our marriage license. I kept my face calm as I typed my reply, "It's okay, Raphael. I've resigned. I'm starting a new job abroad." "After today, we're nothing to each other." After sending the last message, I was about to turn off my phone when the screen lit up, his familiar number flashing constantly.
I'd just picked up my soup spoon when Raphael Gunning told me we'd have to put off getting our marriage license. "We'll do it some other day." Raphael set down his fork, his tone casual, like he was just commenting on the weather. I took a sip of soup. "Alright." He glanced at me, then looked down to pick up some food with his fork, only to lift his eyes toward me again. "You're not upset?" I took another sip of soup, my voice steady. "No." We held our wedding six months ago, and this was the seventeenth time we'd put off getting our marriage license. He was used to this. So was I. After I finished my meal, I stood up to clear the table. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist. "McKinley, I swear I'll be free next Monday. "We already had the wedding anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. "You can trust me. I won't bail on you this time." I stared at his hand holding mine, then lifted my gaze to meet his eyes and smiled, "Okay." Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, promised "for sure" thirteen times, and told me to "trust him" sixteen times. Still, we never got our marriage certificate. And next week would be no different—because this time, I'd be the one to stand him up. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the law firm's HR. "You're resigning? Does Mr. Gunning know?" I held my phone and stepped outside while Raphael stayed sitting at the dining table. He stared at me with a strange expression, hesitated for a moment, then spoke tentatively, "Why aren't you asking me why this time?" I replied to HR's message first before turning my attention to Raphael. "It doesn't matter anymore." I meant every single word. The first time we planned to get our marriage certificate, his intern, Valerie Huxley, said she had a stomachache. I sat on a bench outside the city hall from dawn till dusk and went home alone. The second time, Valerie said she couldn't figure out how to put together a case spreadsheet. He'd left me stranded at a busy highway exit and rushed straight back to the firm without a second glance. Every time after that, whenever we set a date for our marriage license, Valerie would suddenly have some sort of emergency. Over the past six months, this same scene had played out seventeen times. Raphael froze at my words. His Adam's apple bobbed. After a short silence, he held his phone out to me. "A lot of people hire photographers to film them when they get their marriage certificate these days. "We should do that too. You've always loved that kind of romantic gesture, right?" So, he did remember I loved simple romantic moments. I thought for a second and asked, "Are you free tonight? Let's go out for..." I intended to ask him out for a final meal, but his phone rang before I finished speaking. The call was from his trainee, Valerie. I couldn't hear what she said on the other end, but after he hung up, Raphael looked at me. "Honey, Val..." I cut him off with a soft smile. "Go on. Drive safe." Raphael froze, clearly surprised by how calm I was being. But after a moment, he got dressed and headed out. "I'll bring you a gift when I come back tonight." The door slammed shut with a loud thud. Soon, I heard a car start and drive away right after. I stood there, staring at the closed door. Five years together, six months of a wedding— I should've let go of this relationship a long time ago. Chapter 2 That afternoon, I went into the office and handed my resignation letter straight to HR. She looked at me, her expression a mix of regret and confusion. "You and Mr. Gunning are the firm's golden team. At your wedding six months ago, even the partners came to congratulate you, not to mention all those clients. "Everyone was so envious of you back then. Why are you leaving all of a sudden?" I thought about our wedding six months ago: having a hundred and ten tables of guests, red carpets laid out, and flowers everywhere. Raphael held my hand and promised he'd protect me for the rest of my life. It had been a grand celebration, a perfect day. But no matter how wonderful it had been, those days were long gone. It was past ten o'clock at night when I got home after handing in my resignation. The house was eerily quiet and empty. Just then, an Instagram post from Valerie popped up on my phone. She'd tagged me directly. "Thanks to my mentor for staying with me all afternoon. In return, I'll take him to a concert tomorrow." I knew Raphael, who'd said he'd come home at noon, wasn't coming back. This had happened far too many times in the six months since we'd held the wedding. I ate dinner and didn't save any food for Raphael like I used to. Instead, I opened my email, which held job offers from law firms in over a dozen countries. I moved my mouse to the one from France, accepted the offer without hesitation, and booked a flight to Paris in two days. --- The next morning, I started packing. In the master bedroom closet, my clothes were on the left and Raphael's on the right. Raphael would have never worn those bright, colorful shirts before. But after Valerie came, she said they made him look approachable and more popular with clients. Since then, he'd stop wearing the tailored high-end suits I'd carefully picked out for him. I smiled faintly and placed my own clothes into the suitcase. I was only halfway done when Raphael came home. He was wearing a pink shirt, and it smelled like Valerie's favorite perfume. When he saw me, he froze briefly before explaining instinctively, "Val insisted on going shopping last night. It was too late to drive home, so I stayed in a hotel room." I nodded and said nothing. It was the first time he'd volunteered an explanation in six months of marriage. He took two steps closer, his eyes landing on the suitcase. "Are you going on a business trip?" "Yeah." For some reason, he looked relieved. "I have things to do today. I just came back to grab something." "Alright." I kept folding clothes without looking up. I'd planned to tell him I quit over lunch, but now it seemed unnecessary. He murmured in response, pulled out a red gift bag, grabbed his coat by the door, and hurried off. The second the door closed, the photo frame that had hung on the wall for six months crashed down, sending shards of glass flying. It was our wedding photo. In it, he wore the suit I'd picked out, and I wore my wedding dress. Back then, he told me he'd love me, cherish me, and care for me forever. I'd teared up and smiled like an idiot. But once Valerie showed up, he'd forgotten all those promises. I stared at the photo for a long time before cleaning up the broken glass. Then I threw the happy photo into the trash can, gone, along with the last of my feelings for him. Chapter 3 That evening, I'd just lain down on the bed when my best friend called. "Have you checked Instagram? What's going on with Raphael and Valerie?!" I unlocked my phone and saw Valerie had just posted a new update. It was a nine-photo grid, with a new necklace around her neck as the centerpiece. The caption read, "Happy 22nd birthday to me. Thanks for the gift, Mr. Gunning." In the bottom-right picture, half of a red gift bag was visible. So, Raphael had come home at noon just to grab Valerie's birthday present. My bestie kept ranting over the phone, "You've only been married six months, and she's already pulling this? What is wrong with Raphael?" "We never got our marriage certificate." Dead silence filled the line. After a long moment, her voice came through, thick with disbelief. "What?" "We had the wedding, but we never officially got married," I explained, my voice completely flat. There was another long pause. Finally, her voice dropped, laced with sympathy. "What are you going to do?" I glanced at my packed suitcase. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow. A law firm over there offered me a job a while back." "He's not stopping you?" "He has no idea." And he wouldn't care even if he did. Ending the call, I checked Valerie's Instagram again. After a moment, I liked the post, considering it a final blessing before I left for good. At ten o'clock that night, Raphael came home. He walked in and reached to hang up his coat as usual, but froze halfway. "Where's the photo by the door?" He didn't even hang up his coat before walking into the bedroom, his voice slightly panicked. "Honey, where's our picture?" I leaned against the headboard and said calmly, "It fell and broke." At that, he glanced at the broken glass in the trash can and relaxed. Then he pulled a Louis Vuitton bag out of his own and held it out. "I said I'd get you a gift yesterday but didn't have time. Today... I made up for it." I froze for a second. Only then did I remember him saying yesterday morning, "I'll bring a gift when I come home tonight." I hadn't expected him to remember. Then, I saw the time on the receipt, from half an hour earlier. He'd probably felt guilty after seeing I liked Valerie's post, so he'd stopped at a store on the way home and bought a bag to make up for it. I didn't take it or say anything. Raphael set the bag on the bed, hesitating. "By the way, about the firm's Employee of the Month award next month, could you..." "Let Valerie have it?" He looked surprised I'd said it first and nodded awkwardly. "She's just starting out and really needs this recognition. You've won it several times already..." So, even this last-minute gift came with strings attached. I nodded. "Alright." Chapter 4 He looked stunned—probably hadn't expected me to agree so easily. "You're not mad?" I shook my head. There was nothing to be angry about. From now on, I didn't need any of the things she wanted—whether it was the Employee of the Month award or Raphael's favor. He relaxed and added, "Val is my trainee, and you're my wife. It's only right that you're generous. "Oh, and let's go to city hall tomorrow morning." I stared at him and said nothing. He seemed to remember something. "I almost forgot you're going on a business trip. What time is your flight tomorrow?" "Three PM." "Then we have time," he said at once, his tone firm. "Meet me at the city hall at ten AM. I've already hired a photographer and put down a deposit." I was about to tell him it wasn't necessary, that we didn't need to do this anymore. But his phone rang again, right on cue. Valerie's name flashed on the screen. He picked up, and her sweet voice came through the screen, saying her stomach hurt terribly and asking if he could take her to the hospital. He hung up, and for once, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. I said, "Go." He looked relieved and pulled me into a quick hug. "Dress nicely tomorrow. I'll be there, I promise. No last-minute cancellations." With that, he grabbed his coat and left. The second the door closed, I glanced at the LV bag on the bed. The receipt was still tucked inside. I didn't open it, but put it back in the bag exactly as it was and placed it on the top shelf of the closet. Up there were two more bags of the same style, different colors—all his previous "impulse buys." --- The next morning at 9:30, I zipped up my last suitcase and took one last look at the room. In the closet, Raphael's clothes hung neatly in a row. The other side was empty. At 9:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled appointment to get the marriage certificate, I called a cab and left for the airport. At ten o'clock, he still hadn't texted me or called me. And by noon, I still hadn't received a call from Raphael asking why I hadn't shown up. That afternoon, I picked up my boarding pass and walked to the gate. Just as I was about to board, my phone finally buzzed. It was two messages from Raphael, sent one right after the other. "Honey, Val's in the hospital and I can't leave her. I don't think I can make it to the marriage registration today." "When you get back from this trip, I'll pick you up at the airport, and we'll go straight to the city hall. I won't let anything get in the way this time." Reading his messages, I felt nothing. Sure enough, for the eighteenth time, he'd bailed on our marriage license. I kept my face calm as I typed my reply, "It's okay, Raphael. I've resigned. I'm starting a new job abroad." "After today, we're nothing to each other." After sending the last message, I was about to turn off my phone when the screen lit up, his familiar number flashing constantly.
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I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
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I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
“If you want me to stop,” he said, voice dangerous, “just say the word.” "Don’t stop, please keep going." I pleaded. My voice was gentle and below a whisper but full of need. "You are mine Jade, you are all mine." He said. "Take me, take me now, and make me all yours." I said, and he chuckled and then turned me around. "Alpha Dante, what are you doing here?" I startled. “You’re my sister’s mate.” Silence. Then— “You felt it,” he said. “Don’t lie.” I woke up gasping in the dark. My hands were shaking. My heart was still pounding. Did I just have a dream about my brother-in-law? Why would my mind betray me like this? Why him? No this cannot be happening. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe, trying to think like the future coven leader I was raised to be. Duty. Balance. Alliances. Sacrifice. Then my phone buzzed. My sister. Sasha: Jade, we need to talk. Sasha: For the pack. For the coven. Sasha: You have to marry Alpha Dante. Sasha: And give him an heir. I stared at the screen, my chest tight. Was this really politics—or fate playing the cruelest joke of all?
I grew up abroad. My mother feared I might marry a foreign man, so she arranged an engagement for me with a talented and handsome man in Flodon. She insisted that I return home to get engaged. I came back and started shopping for an engagement dress at a luxury boutique. I selected an off-white strapless gown and decided to try it on. Suddenly, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand and told the saleswoman, “That’s a unique design. Let me try it.” The saleswoman immediately yanked it out of my hands. I protested indignantly, 😤 “Excuse me, I was here first. Don’t you understand the principle of ‘first come, first served’? Or do you just not care about common decency?” The woman scoffed 😏 and retorted, “This dress costs $188,000. Do you really think a broke nobody like you can even afford it? I’m Lucas Goodwin’s sister in all but blood. He’s the chairman of Goodwin’s Group. In Flodon, the Goodwin family sets the rules.” What a coincidence! 😲 Lucas Goodwin was my fiancé! I immediately called him and said, “Hey, your ‘sister in all but blood’ just stole my engagement dress. Do something about it.” 📞
She's a killer who slept with the same mafia boss twice 💢 First time she vanished leaving only a note 💥 Thought she'd never see him again 🩸 But the second time he had the highest bounty in the killer world 🔥 Even she was hunting him 💎 But when she found him ✨ He trapped her in his room 💢 Gripped her shaking hand and aimed her gun at himself 💥 Chuckling, asking if she could keep it steady 🩸 This man doesn't fear death 🔥 Or has he seen through everything all along 💎 The truth awaits 👉 🔥Sleeping With Danger: The Mafia Boss I Shouldn't Have Crossed 2🔥 #GoodShort #Mystery #MafiaBoss #KillerRomance #DangerousGame #Suspense #DarkRomance #DeadlyAttraction
She's a killer who slept with the same mafia boss twice 💢 First time she vanished leaving only a note 💥 Thought she'd never see him again 🩸 But the second time he had the highest bounty in the killer world 🔥 Even she was hunting him 💎 But when she found him ✨ He trapped her in his room 💢 Gripped her shaking hand and aimed her gun at himself 💥 Chuckling, asking if she could keep it steady 🩸 This man doesn't fear death 🔥 Or has he seen through everything all along 💎 The truth awaits 👉 🔥Sleeping With Danger: The Mafia Boss I Shouldn't Have Crossed 2🔥 #GoodShort #Mystery #MafiaBoss #KillerRomance #DangerousGame #Suspense #DarkRomance #DeadlyAttraction
These father-son duos prove the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
These father-son duos prove the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.