His Tamed Wife, The Wild Heiress

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I stood under the shower spray until the bathroom filled with steam, until I could barely see my own

d cutting through the white noise of running wate

wet hair dripping onto the tile floor. The phone screen lit up with a

presence and that horrible soup you made have made

fix things, to apologize, to beg him to reconsider. I waited for the tears that usually

ing

f course she was. Probably from laughing too hard at my humiliation. And Damien wouldn't be comi

romised to make it right. Waited up all night in case he changed

pped the phone on the co

at followed fe

rays and navy blues. Nothing too bright, nothing too attention-grabbing, nothing that might embarrass him or make me stand o

ter-MIT, where I'd triple-majored in computer science, business, and engineering. The sweatshirt had paint stains on one s

y. It smelled like storage and dust, but underneath t

. Heiress. Genius

e wife who'd erased herself for a man wh

that didn't restrict my movement or make me feel like I was playing dress-up in someone el

rass him with my terrible driving." Next to it, covered with a tarp and gathering dust, was my baby: a matte blac

edan I'd registered under a shell company-untra

seen that necklace and lost my mind. It was located near the outskirts of the city, in a neighborhood that straddled the line betw

ver written down. The metal door rolled up with a screech of protest, revealing boxes stacked ne

eproof safe in the

d locked away to become Damien's wife. My real driver's license. My credit cards linked to m

lt smartphone with encryption that woul

watched the loading bar inch forward, my heart rate picking up for

otificatio

nds of them, the notification counter climbing so fast it became a blur. Missed calls: 3,847

t friends from college-Maya, Jordan, and China. Messages from my martial arts master, Sifu Wong. Encrypted messages from my hacker colle

lease call us. We

funny anymore. Wher

nd in 24 hours I'm filing

dojo speaks of either death or co

e everything. Sifu Wong had never

ifty thousand followers. My last post stared back at me: **Going ghost for

'd been kidnapped, if I'd joined a cult. Conspiracy theories about m

iews. Same story. TikTok, where my martial arts videos and coding tutorials had garnered two million foll

me. I'd lost my mind over a borrowe

e keyboard, typing before

m ba

ltaneously acro

nt. Comments exploded. Shares multiplied. My phone started ringing immed

y one m

- Twin

on the se

LVADORE, WHERE THE