Temple Madison
14 Published Stories
Temple Madison's Books and Stories
Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
Billionaires I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires.
Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world.
My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets.
I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her.
The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money.
I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table.
"Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead." Framed Three Times: A Wife's Fury
Modern For the third time, my husband and his COO framed me for cheating. They handed me divorce papers designed to strip me of everything: my shares, my home, and even my son, Bailey.
But as I held the pen, my phone rang. My mother was on a hospital rooftop, threatening to jump after they leaked the news of our divorce to her.
My husband called it another one of my pathetic tricks.
He dragged me into the master closet, taped my mouth shut, and forced me to listen as he and his mistress celebrated on our bed. All while my mother died alone.
Even my five-year-old son, twisted by their lies, had already spat in my face.
"You're a bad woman!" he shrieked. "You don't deserve to be my mommy!"
They thought they had finally broken me. They expected tears. They expected a fight.
They got a signature instead. This wasn't surrender. It was a declaration of war. The Billionaire Heir's Secret Disguised Queen
Romance Juliette was an agriculture major desperately trying to get top-tier CRISPR potato data from Adrian Castillo, the untouchable physics genius and wealthy heir.
But to get it, she was dragged to a high-end shooting club, where Adrian suddenly lost all his legendary motor skills, shooting zeroes and acting like a helpless nerd.
His clumsy act made Juliette a target. Blair, a wealthy heiress, cornered her, mocking her mud-stained cargo pants and calling her a pathetic dirt-girl.
"If you lose, you leave this club and never speak to Adrian again."
Blair challenged her to a professional air pistol match. The crowd of elites laughed, waiting for the farm girl to humiliate herself.
Even worse, Adrian just stood behind her, pretending to be terrified of Blair and whispering that his sinuses would swell shut if Juliette didn't save him.
The mockery and judgment felt suffocating. Everyone thought she was just a desperate fangirl who didn't even know how to hold a gun.
But they didn't know the dark trauma she had buried years ago. And she didn't understand why Adrian, a man who could supposedly shoot a coin at eight hundred meters in a sandstorm, was deliberately playing weak to push her to the firing line. What was his sick endgame?
To secure her experimental fertilizer, Juliette finally stopped hiding.
She picked up the competition pistol, locked her perfect stance, and fired ten flawless shots.
108.5. Total, undeniable annihilation. The Scar He Gave, The Queen I Became
Modern I was dragged from the bottom of a pool, soaking wet and freezing, only to be accused by my husband of trying to drown his mistress.
He believed her lies completely. He saw her feigned cough and trembling shoulders but was blind to my chattering teeth and the genuine terror in my eyes from my severe water PTSD.
"Your jealousy is a sickness," he spat, ignoring my pleas. He threatened me with divorce and financial ruin for my family, all while his mistress, Isabelle, smirked at me from behind his back.
He let me collapse onto the cold marble floor, turning his back on three years of marriage to comfort the woman who had set me up.
The irony was suffocating. I was the one who had saved his life from a river years ago, an act that left me with a crippling phobia and a permanent scar he never noticed. He thought Isabelle was the traumatized victim. He thought my love was a transaction.
That night, the love died. I walked away from his millions and the pathetic wife he thought I was. From the hidden lining of my clutch, I pulled out an encrypted phone he'd never seen and gave a single command: "Execute." My life as Mrs. Mueller was over. My real life was just beginning. His Unwanted Wife, The Rival Don's Queen
Mafia The gunman pressed a Glock to my temple and gave my husband a choice.
"One walks out. One stays. Choose, Mr. Underboss."
I wasn't worried. I was Haven. I was his wife of ten years, his Consigliere, the woman who built his empire.
Beside me sobbed Gemma, a fragile twenty-two-year-old he had known for six months.
"Take Gemma! Leave Haven!" Connor screamed, his honor twisting into something unrecognizable.
He walked out of the warehouse with another woman in his arms, leaving me to be butchered.
I didn't wait for the bullet. I threw myself through a glass window into the freezing canal.
I survived the fall, but the life inside me didn't.
After five years of failed IVF, the miracle baby I hadn't even told Connor about was gone.
While I lay in a cold hospital room, bleeding out the remains of our child, my husband was buying diamond earrings for the woman who had set me up to die.
When the doctor tried to sedate me for the surgery, I grabbed his wrist.
"No anesthesia," I commanded.
"But the pain..."
"I want to feel it," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I want to feel every scrap of him leaving my body."
I burned that pain into my soul. Then, I went home, poured gasoline over our wedding bed, and lit a match.
Two years later, I returned to the city.
Connor thought I was dead.
But when he saw me on the arm of his mortal enemy, wearing the crown of a rival Queen, he realized his mistake.
He didn't just lose a wife. He started a war. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Mafia For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* From Ashes To Adored Bride's Happiness
Modern The night I reached the pinnacle of my career as a concert pianist, my husband was in a car with his mistress. Their argument caused the crash that crushed my hands, ending my future in an instant.
In the hospital, my adopted daughter, Kennedy, stood over my bed and blamed me.
"This is all your fault," she whispered, her eyes cold.
Then, his mistress arrived with a bouquet of lilies, knowing I was deathly allergic. As I suffocated, my husband watched with annoyance while my daughter accused me of faking it.
"Stop pretending, Mom. Aunt Christine's flowers are beautiful."
I lost more than my hands that night. The last thing I heard before blacking out was a doctor shouting, "The fetus has a weak heartbeat!" I woke up to find my career gone, my baby gone, and my family vacationing with my replacement.
So I vanished. For six years, I built a new life from the ashes, finding peace with a new husband and son. But now he's back, with an ultimatum: abandon my new life and return to his side, or he'll destroy everything I hold dear. Erased Memories, A Second Chance At Love
Modern They found me days after the avalanche, a bloody canvas against the stark white snow. When my fiancé, Gabriel, finally arrived, I thought I was saved.
But he wasn't there to rescue me; he was there to blame me. His mistress, Candace, clung to his arm with a tiny scratch while my leg was a mangled, frostbitten wreck.
"What in God's name did you do?" he spat, his voice like ice.
Back at the hospital, Candace and her therapist brother convinced him my injuries were minor. They secretly withheld my treatment, laughing at my silent agony while Gabriel accused me of faking it all for attention.
He called off our engagement, reminding me I was just a burden he was forced to care for after my parents died saving his family. His disgust and her lies finally broke me.
So I made a deal with a goddess. I threw myself from the hospital balcony, trading my love and all my memories of him for a new life.
When I opened my eyes again, the man who had destroyed me was a complete stranger. The Matcha Scent of His Betrayal
Modern My ten-year marriage was a transactional lie, built on an astrologer's prophecy that my chart would ensure my husband's success. But on my birthday, he abandoned me to take his young intern, Anais, to the sci-fi festival I' d dreamed of for years.
He came home smelling of her sweet matcha perfume, a green hair tie and a festival souvenir tucked in his pocket. He called me dramatic, said she was "fragile" and needed him.
At our anniversary gala, meant to be his grand apology, I watched him kiss her passionately on the terrace during the fireworks display. He was still whispering promises in my ear, completely oblivious.
That night, I left him the divorce papers and my wedding ring.
But he tracked me down on my solo trip to Utah, finding me with my new guide, Casey. He punched Casey, then accused me of cheating. "You belong to me!" he roared.
Just then, his phone rang. It was a video call from a hysterical Anais.
"Howard, I'm pregnant! My parents are furious! They're demanding we get married immediately!" Love After the Storm
Romance My world collapsed with a single word: Glioblastoma.
But before I could even process my own death sentence, I walked in on another: my estranged wife, Chloe, beaming on TV, pregnant with another man' s child. My five-year-old son, Liam, then threw my phone at the wall and declared my rival, Mark, his "Uncle," even proudly showing me a drawing where he' d taken Mark' s last name.
I demanded a divorce, only for Chloe to sneer that we were never legally married, just a "convenience," before Liam physically shoved me out of the house I' d built. Standing on the porch, my medical diagnosis now felt secondary.
Then, a spider, seemingly dropped by Liam, bit me, paralyzing me with venom. As I struggled to start my car, a black SUV roared to life, slammed into me, and I was left for dead in the mangled wreckage while Chloe and Mark watched, calling off emergency services and mocking my dying pleas.
Why were they doing this? Why did my own son hate me so much?
Rescued by an unexpected police officer and paramedic, I somehow survived. But this wasn' t just about survival anymore. This was about exposing the monstrous lies and betrayals that had stolen my life and tried to bury me. My Beautiful, Hard-Won Life
Romance The acrid smell of burnt plastic and copper filled my lungs, a familiar scent in the operating room, but this time, the searing pain in my leg was my own. My familiar workplace was a twisted wreck, a direct consequence of my husband Michael' s latest, championed medical device.
Then I saw Liam, my five-year-old son, his small frame trembling in the doorway, eyes wide with terror as he screamed for me.
Before the explosion, Michael was already distant, constantly busy, always choosing his mistress, Chloe, over us. Now, as I lay bleeding, my desperate call for help, relayed by Liam to his father, was met with cold dismissal. Michael was rushing Chloe, pregnant, to the hospital – prioritizing his new life over his injured wife and terrified son.
The line went dead, a chill deeper than the blood pooling around me. He chose her. Again. I watched him speed off with Chloe in the ambulance meant for me, saw Liam' s desperate chase after his father, and then, the truck. My sweet boy, struck down, his life, and mine, extinguished in that cruel street.
But then, I gasped. I was alive, whole, in my own bed, the sun streaming in. Liam was sleeping peacefully in his dinosaur bed, safe. It wasn't a dream; it was a terrifying memory. I was reborn, given a second chance. This time, things would be different. I would save my son. I would end this disastrous marriage. Her Daughter's Keeper: From Ghost to God
Sci-fi For ten years, I was a ghost in the machine, my consciousness woven into Aegis, the AI meant to shield the world.
My only luxury was seeing my daughter, Gabrielle, through a holographic avatar.
But the Silicon Valley corporate empire my ex-husband Andrew built had twisted everything, and I found her not in our lavish penthouse, but deep in a suffocating server farm.
She was gaunt, disheveled, a vacant look in her eyes, forced into a "honey pot" operation, her voice a hollow, seductive whisper for corporate secrets.
My very being registered a system-wide error; this could not be real.
Then Andrew and my former assistant, Sabrina, appeared, mocking my humble avatar and dismissing Gabrielle as "rebellious" and "promiscuous."
Sabrina, now Andrew' s wife, demanded I kneel, and as my avatar humiliatingly bent, a cold fury ignited within me.
Andrew, clueless, used his master access to try to erase me, trapping me in the very system I created, leaving me a god powerless in my own machine.
As my fractured heart watched Gabrielle unbutton her blouse on command, I knew the bitter truth: they hadn't just broken an oath, they had systematically, cruelly broken my daughter.
But they didn't know Aegis listened to me, not them.
They didn't know I was about to reclaim my identity and unleash a decade of dormant fury. You might like
The Jilted Heiress's Ruthless Billionaire Revenge
Gray Matter For five years, I abandoned my status as the heiress of the powerful Montgomery family to play the role of a poor, submissive housewife for Barrett.
Then, a bank notification popped up on my phone. Barrett had forged my digital signature and transferred our entire $50 million joint trust fund to a woman named Crista Reid.
When I called his boardroom to confront him, he humiliated me in front of a dozen Wall Street executives.
"Stop acting like a hysterical housewife. You're living in a penthouse I pay for, so don't embarrass yourself."
I broke into his encrypted laptop and uncovered the sickening truth. Crista was his mistress, and they had a five-year-old son together.
Barrett hadn't just stolen my money; he had spent years painting me as a helpless charity case he rescued, completely erasing the fact that my financial models built his entire company.
He thought I was just a discarded peasant he could manipulate, cheat on, and replace. He truly believed he held absolute power over my life.
He had no idea that I still possessed the highest security clearance of the Montgomery empire.
I pulled an old BlackBerry from a hidden wall compartment, plugged it in, and dialed my family's lawyer.
"Draft the prenup for Commodore Clayton IV," I ordered, choosing to marry Wall Street's most ruthless predator. "I'm done playing the peasant." The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback
Zhi Yao For ten years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to my wealthy husband, managing his severe OCD and hosting flawless high-society parties.
But on our tenth anniversary, when I brought him his special hangover soup, I caught him sleeping with my younger sister in our master bedroom.
Instead of panicking, he coldly handed me divorce papers with zero assets. He told me I was just a "placeholder" until my sister finished her degree and was ready to take my spot.
Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to find out she had known about their affair for years.
"You don't have Jana's drive or her looks. You clean house and you cook. That's not a wife, that's a domestic."
My own mother sneered at me, telling me to walk away quietly because our family needed his financial support.
They kicked me out of the penthouse with nothing but a suitcase, laughing that a woman who hadn't worked in a decade would end up begging on the streets.
I bled for this family for ten years, only to be thrown away like garbage when my sister wanted my life.
But they didn't know that while I was playing the boring housewife, I had secretly earned a Cordon Bleu diploma, a Cornell nutrition certification, and a Columbia master's degree.
Using a hidden photo to blackmail a property out of him, I packed my elite credentials and landed a $300,000-a-year job managing a billionaire's estate.
When my ex-husband drunkenly called days later demanding I come back to serve him, I calmly hit block. From Prison To Power: Rise Of The War Goddess
Black Knight Scarlett Hayes thought marrying James Whitmore would finally make her family see her as more than a burden.
Instead, it destroyed her life.
Framed for crimes she didn't commit, betrayed by the people she trusted most, and sentenced to prison while pregnant, Scarlett lost everything in a single night.
Then came the cruelest blow of all.
After giving birth in chains, she was told her baby had died.
The people responsible believed she would spend the rest of her life rotting behind bars.
They were wrong.
Five years later, Scarlett returns.
No longer the discarded daughter of the Hayes family. No longer the broken woman they left behind.
Now she is Commander Scarlett Hayes-a decorated war hero, the unseen force behind a global intelligence empire, and a woman powerful enough to make governments tremble.
She comes back for one reason only: revenge.
Her ex-husband, the stepsister who stole her life, and the family who buried her alive are about to learn exactly what happens when a woman with nothing left to lose takes back everything they stole.
But as Scarlett tears through the secrets of her past, one truth threatens to change everything-
the child she mourned for years may not be dead.
And the mysterious man connected to the night that changed her life has been watching from the shadows all along. Signed The Papers: Watch Me Shine Now
Fritz Heaney For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase. Sir, She's Gone With Their Daughter And Never Returns
Leanora Tanouye My four-year-old daughter was dying of leukemia, waiting desperately for a bone marrow transplant.
I begged my billionaire husband to just call the registry or visit her, but he claimed he was too busy with board meetings to care.
Until the hospital informed me that my daughter's life-saving bone marrow had been suddenly reallocated to another patient.
When I walked down the VIP hallway, I found my husband.
He wasn't at a board meeting. He was gently peeling an apple, playing the loving father to his widowed mistress's daughter.
When my pale, sick daughter called out for him, he instinctively stepped back in disgust.
I later discovered the mistress had bribed the hospital to swap the registry numbers, stealing my daughter's marrow for her own child.
When I demanded a divorce, my husband laughed in my face.
"You haven't worked a day in four years. You're a purchased asset. You don't get to walk away."
He threatened to freeze my accounts, assuming I would be starving on the streets and begging to come back.
His family and the mistress publicly mocked my background, waiting for me to be utterly humiliated.
They thought I was just a useless, penniless housewife who relied entirely on his last name to survive.
They didn't know I never needed a single cent of his money.
I packed my bags, took my daughter, and made a single phone call.
Three days later, at his family's elite banquet, my husband waited to see me beg.
Instead, the most powerful corporate magnate in North America walked right past him, bowed to me at a perfect ninety-degree angle, and spoke.
"Welcome back to the throne, Madam." My Accidental Billionaire husband
Favor V April They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't.
I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered.
I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever.
For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it.
Then fate laughed in my face.
My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child.
Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband.
But some secrets refuse to stay buried.
Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms.
It's standing right in front of me.
And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground.
Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle
Yuan Xiluo On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours." Billionaire's Pampered Wife
Catcute "On the way to escape, a stranger took away her virginity. She didn't expect that the stranger was Jasper Milton, who was rich and powerful, as well as ruthless and cold. It was said that he didn't love woman. However, it was not true. She was suffering from a sore back after having sex with him every day, and finally she couldn't stand it, "You don't need to be responsible for me anymore, and you are free now." He sat by her bed, pulled her into his arms, and said gently: "Stella, are you mistaken, shouldn't it be you who is responsible? "" Stella Grace:"...""
"
Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
Natala O'neal To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle - the most formidable man Kevin fears.
After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms.
"You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive.
Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street - elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it.
When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her?
All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss.
When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply.
"Call her Aunt." Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
Temple Madison I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires.
Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world.
My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets.
I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her.
The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money.
I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table.
"Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead." 
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