The Cinderella Project: A Betrayal, A Fortune

The Cinderella Project: A Betrayal, A Fortune

Gavin

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I was just a diligent sales associate, trying to make ends meet in a luxury boutique on Rodeo Drive. After refusing a notoriously cruel socialite's outrageous demands, I was unexpectedly offered a breathtaking new life by charming billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt. No more retail hell, just endless luxury. I accepted, clinging to it as a desperate chance for my family to escape East LA's struggles. But then, a chilling message flashed on his unlocked phone: "How's our little Cinderella project coming along, E? Is she suitably dazzled yet? Can't wait for the one-year mark. Payback's a bitch. ;)" My heart seized. The "fairy tale" wasn't a rescue; it was a cruel, elaborate game orchestrated by the very socialite I'd defied. I was the unwitting star of their 'Cinderella project,' a pawn meant to be adorned, built up, then publicly crushed. Every lavish gift, every forced laugh at their condescending jokes, every demeaning glance from their elite circle felt like a tightening chain. I was just their entertainment, watched by snickering socialites on a private 'countdown' account, cheering for my inevitable downfall. They thought I was easily manipulated, a poor girl blinded by glitz and glamor. How could they be so callously cruel, playing with someone's entire future? But beneath the shock, a fierce defiance ignited. This wasn't just their bet; it was my fight for survival. A cold, determined smile touched my lips. Okay, Vanderbilts and Van der Woodsens. Let's play. I would use their money, their arrogance, their connections against them. By the time they realized what was happening, I wouldn't just survive their game; I'd build an empire on its ashes. My empire. My rules.

Introduction

I was just a diligent sales associate, trying to make ends meet in a luxury boutique on Rodeo Drive.

After refusing a notoriously cruel socialite's outrageous demands, I was unexpectedly offered a breathtaking new life by charming billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt.

No more retail hell, just endless luxury.

I accepted, clinging to it as a desperate chance for my family to escape East LA's struggles.

But then, a chilling message flashed on his unlocked phone: "How's our little Cinderella project coming along, E? Is she suitably dazzled yet? Can't wait for the one-year mark. Payback's a bitch. ;)"

My heart seized.

The "fairy tale" wasn't a rescue; it was a cruel, elaborate game orchestrated by the very socialite I'd defied.

I was the unwitting star of their 'Cinderella project,' a pawn meant to be adorned, built up, then publicly crushed.

Every lavish gift, every forced laugh at their condescending jokes, every demeaning glance from their elite circle felt like a tightening chain.

I was just their entertainment, watched by snickering socialites on a private 'countdown' account, cheering for my inevitable downfall.

They thought I was easily manipulated, a poor girl blinded by glitz and glamor.

How could they be so callously cruel, playing with someone's entire future?

But beneath the shock, a fierce defiance ignited.

This wasn't just their bet; it was my fight for survival.

A cold, determined smile touched my lips.

Okay, Vanderbilts and Van der Woodsens.

Let's play.

I would use their money, their arrogance, their connections against them.

By the time they realized what was happening, I wouldn't just survive their game; I'd build an empire on its ashes.

My empire.

My rules.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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