Isadora Vaughan had loved Magnus Wainwright for five years—devoted, unwavering, even when he treated her as an afterthought. She was his fiancée in name, but never in his heart.
Then came the day masked men dragged her into a van, a knife pressed to her throat. When the kidnappers demanded a ransom, Magnus's response was ice-cold: "No."
His reason? His precious Elise was "dying"—and her final wish was to marry him.
"Isadora," he scoffed over the phone, "even faking a kidnapping won't stop this wedding."
That was the moment her love shattered. "We're done," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Magnus laughed. She’d never walk away. Not his loyal, lovesick Isadora.
…Until she did.
Blocked. Ignored. Slapped when he begged for forgiveness.
And when he finally groveled—"I'll get on my knees, just come back"—a low, mocking chuckle answered.
Victor Fitzgerald's voice dripped with smug victory as he eyed the sleeping woman in his bed, her skin still marked from his touch. "Too late, Wainwright. She's mine now. You can kneel till hell freezes over."
