TWISTED OBSESSION: THE BILLIONAIRE'S VIRGIN BRIDE

ARIA

I make it to the elevator before the first sob breaks free.

My hands shake so violently that I can barely press the button. The doors slide open, and I stumble inside, grateful it's empty. The moment they close, I collapse against the wall and let the tears come.

Three years.

Three years of my life have been a lie.

Every moment, every kiss, every whispered "I love you"... all of it was a lie. A calculated, deliberate lie designed to destroy me from the inside out.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I wanted to ignore it and throw the damn thing in the trash. But some masochistic part of me needs to see.

It's a text from Vivienne.

You should see your face in the photos I took. Finally, you look as broken as I've always felt. How does it feel to lose, Aria?

Photos. She took photos of me standing in that doorway, watching my life implode.

Another text comes through. This one is from Marcus.

The engagement is obviously off. I'll have my assistant retrieve the ring. Don't bother showing up to work on Monday—I've already spoken to Richard about your position. Apparently, your promotion was contingent on my recommendation. Funny how that works.

The phone slips from my numb fingers.

My promotion. He's taking that too.

Of course he is. Why leave me with anything?

The elevator doors open in the parking garage. I don't remember pressing the button or even remembering walking. My body is operating on autopilot while my mind splinters into pieces.

My car is where I left it. A lifetime ago, when I was still stupid enough to believe in love and loyalty and happily ever after.

I slide into the driver's seat and just sit there, staring at nothing.

Marcus works for Ashford Global. One of the most powerful companies in the city. He's a VP, reports directly to...

My stomach turns.

Dante Ashford. The Dante Ashford. Billionaire CEO whose face appears in Forbes with regularity. Only attributed with the adjectives "ruthless," "brilliant," and "dangerous."

Marcus bragged about his connection to Ashford constantly. Used it to open doors, secure meetings, and leverage deals. And if Marcus is talking to Richard about my position, then he's already poisoning the well at my firm.

Everything I worked for. Everything I built through late nights and sacrifice and pure determination.

Gone.

I should go home and put in a call to Elise, my best friend. I need to start making plans for finding a new job, a new apartment, and a new life.

But I don't want to be practical right now.

I want to hurt the way I'm hurting.

I just want to forget this pain.

I want to stop being perfect, responsible Aria, who always does the right thing and gets destroyed for it anyway.

My hands are steadier when I start the car. I know exactly where I'm going.

Velvet Room.

The high-end bar where Marcus once mentioned his boss holds court in the VIP section. Where the drinks cost more than my rent and the crowd is Manhattan's elite.

I want to drown. And if I'm going to drown, I might as well do it somewhere that matches how far I've fallen.

The valet takes my keys with barely a glance at my tear-stained face. Money buys discretion, and this place reeks of money.

Inside, Velvet Room lives up to its name. Plush seating, low lighting, and expensive art on the walls. The kind of place where people close million-dollar deals over cocktails and think nothing of spending a month's salary on a bottle of wine.

I don't belong here.

But then again, I don't belong anywhere right now.

The bartender is handsome in that professional, untouchable way. He takes one look at my face and pours two shots without asking.

I down them both.

"Another," I say.

He hesitates. "Maybe we should..."

"Another." My voice cracks. "Please."

He pours one more, then shakes his head. "I'm sorry, miss. The boss's orders. I can't serve you more."

"Your boss doesn't know me."

"Maybe not." He nods toward the upper level, where the VIP section overlooks the main bar. "But he's watching."

I follow his gaze.

And freeze.

There's a man in the VIP lounge. He's seated in a leather chair that looks more like a throne, one leg crossed over the other. Even from here, I can see he's tall. Powerfully built. His suit probably costs more than my car.

But it's his eyes that stop my breath.

Ice blue. Piercing and fixed directly on me with the intensity of a predator spotting prey.

Dante Ashford.

I know it's him even though I've never seen him in person. You don't work in this city without knowing what the devil looks like.

And he's staring at me like he can see through skin and bone straight to my shattered soul.

"Who the hell is your boss?" I ask, even though I already know.

The bartender doesn't need to answer.

Something reckless and desperate takes over. I'm already destroyed. What more can happen?

So I do the stupidest thing I've done all night.

I march toward the stairs leading to the VIP section.

Security moves to intercept me, but a subtle gesture from above stops them. They part like water, letting me pass.

My heart pounds with each step. By the time I reach the top, I'm breathless.

The VIP lounge is even more opulent than below. Private, intimate. And there he is.

Dante Ashford.

Up close, he's devastating. Sharp features. Dark hair with hints of grey at the temples. That suit molded to his body like a second skin. Everything about him screams power and control and danger.

But it's his eyes that hold me captive; they are cold, assessing, and somehow, hungry.

I open my mouth to speak.

And that's when I see her.

A beautiful blonde on her knees between his legs. Her head is moving in a rhythm that makes my face burn.

I should leave. Should run. This is mortifying.

But I can't move.

Because Dante Ashford isn't looking at the woman servicing him.

He's looking at me.

And then he says my name.

"Aria Sinclair."