Betrayed Heiress: Marrying The Wall Street Devil

of the apartment doorbell

ff the counter. She ran to her laundry basket and

ruises from Buren's mouth. She grabbed a thick, black cashmere turtleneck swe

racing heart to slow down. She walked t

ored suit was wrinkled. His face was dark with anger.

nded. His voice dripped with fake conce

ept her voice steady. "I drank too much at the ch

r personal space. He leaned in, sniffing the air a

efused to step back. She st

turtleneck. He raised his hand, his fing

Watch your hands, Faron," s

, a loud, specialized notification

lled out his phone a

tures. The dark anger shifted into something more calculatin

s screen. It was a push notification from Page S

: WALL STREET TITAN'S

side entrance of The Plaza Hotel. He was using his large wool overcoat to shield a wo

t seeing Buren Warner's name changed the calculation. A direct confrontation with Warner was suicide, even for the Levine family. If Warner had been the one in

rs to relax. He needed to retreat-for now.

angry interrogator vanished. He put on

said, opening his arms. "I was

d and wrapped his

hing else. Resting on the lapel of his immaculate suit was a single, distinct strand of coarse, dyed blond hair. At that exact moment, a faint, lingering scent brushed past her senses-the

heaved. Acid burned

d pushed him away with all her strength. She c

dropped. A flash of genuine panic cr

ard the door. "My stomach is killing

nciliation to look perfect to the public. "Of course. Re

door and locke

lid down the wooden door

pocket. She opened the Page Six we

at. The woman's face was hidden, but a small piece

She had seen Alex's Instagram post from last n

he photo was n

Alex Stone's name as a decoy. He had orchestrated a fake news scandal to draw all the att

ner had s

rofile in the photo. A freezi

They did not protect people out of kindne

e lengths to cover her track

error, her phone erupted with

t the screen. It was her