Teach Me The Gentlemen s Club Book One

The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge

Luo Ye

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

Modern Playboy Billionaires

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Trigger Warning

Thirteen Years Ago

"Daddy, please! Please, don't leave us. Please!" The tiny child was sobbing hysterically, clinging to his pants. The man moved with purpose, uncaring, dragging the little girl.

No! She didn't let go. How she wished her hands were bigger so she could surround his limb with enough force to make him stop. Unconcerned. Irritation marring his features.

It was no use. The small frame that was her body got drag along. He continued to walk towards the door.

"Leave him be, brat. He doesn't want us anymore." No! That was not true. She was daddy's little girl. He loved her. He read her stories at night and he would always bring her chocolates.

Her swollen eyes pleaded with him. "Please, daddy. Don't leave me." He doesn't even look at her. His face was graven and his hands were clenched. His anger was palpable and he looked outside where his car was parked. The engine was left running.

Dad shook his head, removed her hands around him none too gently. She stumbled when he pushed her a bit hard. Shock filled her. He had never hurt her before. She was his little girl. He loved her. He must.

He took that advantage and he got out the door, straight to his car without a backward glance. Not even once.

Why? Had she done something wrong?

"Mom?" That one loaded question was ignored. She continued to drink tequila straight from the bottle.

"Yourrr...dad...willl...not...come backk! Remmm...mem...berr that, brat!" She looked at her with malice, and with a cruel smirk, dismissed her with a flick of a finger, wanting her daughter away from her sight.

Sinclair ran to her bedroom and cried herself to sleep.

Dad will come back. He must. He loved her.

Her tummy rumbled. She ignored it.

-Daddy, please come back.-

***

"Son of a bitch! You are a fucking burden! Brat! Idiot! You won't fucking eat. Bitch!" She trembled from the hits she was receiving from her mother. Her fault. She burned their dinner. Her fault.

It was always her fault.

She ran to the kitchen to serve her mother her dinner.

There was constant roaring in her ears when mother was hitting her a bit too hard with a bottle. It hurt a lot. Bees were swirling inside her head. Big fat bees. Her mother would always aim for her head.

Moving fast despite her size, she scrambled to make things right. She didn't want to make her mom angry.

To salvage the dinner - scrambled eggs and toasted bread - she scraped the edible parts to a different pan. This time the flame on the stove was just right.

Tremors ran through her small body. She had to serve her food soon or else.....

Sleeping outside on a cold night was no fun. That was her constant punishment aside from her mother's physical abuse.

Damn these tears! Make it stop.

She was startled from the tap on her thin shoulders, she held tight to avoid falling from the makeshift platform she was standing at.

"I said are you done, brat!" Jeez. She didn't hear her. She read her lips instead. "You move too fucking slow! Hurry up! I'm hungry."

"Yes, mum," she mumbled.

It had been like this for a year now. Her mother's liquor addiction has worsened. Thank God, her aunt owned the diner where she worked and the mortgage in this house was paid or they will be out on the streets.

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