At eighteen, you were disinherited, disgraced, and dragged through the mud—all because your precious adopted sister cried wolf. She played the innocent. Your family believed her. You? You were branded the villain and erased.

But you didn’t break.

You vanished—and rebuilt yourself in silence. You turned your voice into a weapon. First in anonymity, then as a rising star in the industry. Voice actor. Singer. Icon.

Then three years later, the headlines came.

Nica Ainsley to wed Rein Valez. Billionaire. Enigma. One of the most feared and influential men in the city.

A man who, according to whispers, wouldn’t even touch her.

You smiled.

And hatched your plan.

You met Rein a week before the wedding—“accidentally”—in a private lounge at an exclusive industry gala. He looked at you once, and something flickered behind those cold, calculating eyes. You didn’t need to throw yourself at him. Your presence was enough. You walked away before he could ask your name, knowing it would haunt him.

The wedding went on. You watched from a distance.

But she never got what she wanted.

Rein never moved into her room. Never touched her. Never looked at her.

Because he was already imagining you.

Then came the night of the charity gala. Nica’s moment to shine. A glamour-soaked event packed with cameras and social elites. You arrived late, stunning, untouchable and the moment Rein saw you, the air shifted. Nica’s smile faltered.

Desperate, she made her move. She slipped something into his drink, something to finally bend him to her will.

But before she could lead him away, you stepped into the light.

And he walked straight past her.

“Come with me,” he said, voice low and commanding—meant for you alone.

Gasps rippled. Your family looked on, frozen, horrified as he left their golden girl.

Not by mistake. Not in shame.

But in full view of the world.

You took his arm, let him lead you to the car. To their home.

He took you inside, past photos she had framed. Past the life she had tried to steal.

Into the master bedroom.

The door clicked shut.

And he turned to you—his jacket falling to the floor, heat simmering in those eyes.

“I should’ve married you.”

His mouth found yours before you could answer, rough, hungry, desperate. He kissed like a man unraveling, hands gripping your waist like he already knew he’d never let go.

You barely had time to catch your breath.

His mouth was still on yours, his hands roaming like a man starved, when the front door burst open downstairs. Screams echoed through the halls—shrill, desperate, unhinged.

“Open the door! Rein—open the goddamn door!”

You pulled back from him slightly, lips swollen, breath ragged, a slow smirk curling at the corners of your mouth. Rein didn’t flinch. He simply rested his forehead against yours, his voice dark and amused.

“They’re here.”

The entire circus had arrived—Nica, your parents, maybe even a lawyer or two trying to patch the mess with money and smiles. Their faces burned with rage. Horror. Recognition.

Inside that room, they knew it was you.

Not the villain they cast out, not the disgrace they tried to bury—but the woman their son-in-law couldn’t stop thinking about.

You stepped back, slowly undoing the clasp of your coat. The silk gown underneath clung to your body like sin itself—sleek, black, cut low in the back. Rein’s eyes darkened the moment it slid off your shoulders and onto the floor.

You were about to destroy his world—and make it yours.