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Running From The Amnesiac Billionaire Tyrant

Chapter 5 

Word Count: 722    |    Released on: Today at 15:32

s in the cheap blinds, stabbing direct

space beside her. The sheets were c

walked out of the bedroom. The

te. She walked over and lifted it. Underneath wa

icky note. The handwriting

delivery shift. B

a heavy knot formed in Aliya's stomach. She was

elf to swallow the guilt-laden food. Then,

r the frame to grab her slippers. Her finge

ut. When she read the label, she s

doms. The plastic wrap was broke

ight echoed in her skull:

If she had reacted a second slower last night, or if she hadn't pulled that excuse out

ely shattered any delusion she had of j

ner under the bed as if it were on fire. She dusted o

un immediately. She had to vanis

room and booted up the orig

spotty Wi-Fi and open

$15-an-hour wage would never cover the massive cost

nto a specific listing: R

n. Selling just one apartment in Manhattan would yield eno

he had sharp social instincts and knew how to read a r

egan aggressively editing the or

he used plain, sincere language to highlight her willingness to hustle, her desperation to learn, and a basic but s

ally clicked "Send," firing the resume off to fiv

ally felt like she had placed an act

r inbox, making her stomach twist into tighter knots. Just as the sun began to dip below the skyline and she felt the crushing

onal female voice came through the speaker, inviting her

greed profusely. When she hung up, she actual

roblem. How the hell was she going to explain getting a job to Cyru

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Running From The Amnesiac Billionaire Tyrant
Running From The Amnesiac Billionaire Tyrant
“Aliya woke up in a dingy, freezing apartment with a throbbing headache, only to realize a horrifying truth. She had transmigrated into the American romance novel she read just last night, becoming the ultimate vicious supporting character. The exhausted man walking through the front door was Cyrus Pace, an amnesiac billionaire currently living under the delusion that he was a broke laborer. The original owner had trapped him with fabricated memories of being childhood sweethearts. Worse, she relentlessly abused him. Her phone was filled with toxic texts calling him a useless loser, and she had just staged a psychotic hunger strike to force him to buy a designer bag. Cyrus already looked at her with bone-deep, visceral disgust. In the original plot, the moment he regained his memory, his ruthless revenge would send her straight to a maximum-security prison for the rest of her life. "Are you done playing your hunger strike game?" Hearing his cold, mocking voice, the sheer terror made Aliya's blood run cold. How was she supposed to survive living with a future tyrant who already despised her? Every time his massive shadow fell over their cramped, shared mattress, her heart stopped. A single wrong move-even a microscopic mistake like accidentally crossing a physical line-would completely seal her doom. Staring at the torn box of condoms hidden under the bed, Aliya made a desperate, life-or-death decision. She had to completely rewrite her toxic persona, secretly hustle a high-commission real estate job, and save enough money to flee the country before the billionaire remembered exactly who he was.”