The midday sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting harsh geometric shadows across the master bedroom.
Anissa woke up with a pounding headache. She rolled over, her hand instinctively reachingout across the massive mattress The sheels were perfectly flat. Ice cold
She sat up, rubbing her temples. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She unlocked it and stared at the screen.
Nothing
It had been three days since Harding had stormed out of this room and flown to London. Three days of absolute, deafening silence. He hadn't sent a single text. He hadn't made a single call. He had completely ghosted her.
A surge of hot, prickly irritation washed over her skin She threw the phone onto the mattress. She was Anissa Snow. She had just dismantled a corporate empire and saved her brothers life. She was not going to sit in an empty apartment and pine for a man who couldnt handle his own biology.
Suddenly, the sharp, melodic chime of the penthouse doorbell echoed throughthe halls.
A minute later, Eleanor, the head houseke eper knocked gently on the bedroom door. "Madam? You have a visitor.”
Anissa threw on a silk robe and walked out to the livingroom.
Standing in the center of the room, wearing a blood-red trench coat, oversized blackout sunglasses, and holding a venti iced coffee, was Clara Finnegan
Clara was Anissas best friend from college, a high powered fashion publicist with a tongue sharper than a scalpel. Anissa hadnt seen her in months. Clara had been in Milan runninga massive PR campaign, and Anissa had deliberately avoided dragging her best friend into the toxic, dangerous mess of the Roy family's downfall. She had meant to call Clara, to finally unload the impossible weight of the last few months, but 0.0% 1531 NI
Q0 nh £3 +120 Points at most the chaos had consumed her. It seemed her best friend's uncanny timing was still flawless.
Clara pulled down her sunglasses, her sharp blue eyes scanning Anissas messy hair and pale face.
“Good lord," Clara deadpanned. "You look like a Victorian widow whojust found out her husband died penniless You are absolutely radiating sexual frustration.
Anissa groaned, sinkinginto the white leather sofa. "Shut up, Clara." Clara walked over and dropped a beautifully wrapped, matte-black shoppingbag onto Anissa's lap. There were no logos on the bag.
“What is this?" Anissa asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously
“That,” Clara said, taking a sip of her coffee, "is an ice-breaker, You told me the Wall Street cyborg ran away to London because things got a little too hot inthe hallway. When he gets back, you puton what's inthat bag and | guarantee he forgets whatever ghost he's runningfrom.* Anissa peeked inside the bag. She saw a flash of black lace and a terrifyingly small amount of silk. Her face instantly burned crimson She shoved the bag away. ‘I am not wearing that! He doesn't even want to look at me!"
“Bullshit,” Clara snapped, grabbing Anissa’s arm and hauling her off the sofa. "Men are simple creatures. Now go wash your face. We are going to Fifth Avenue. You are goingto swipethat black card until it melts, and we are goingto remind you that you are the baddest bitch in this city.” Anhourlater, Anissast epped out of the penthouselookinglike a weapon. She wore a tailored, bone white Alexander Mc Queen suit that fit her like a second skin paired with stiletto heels that clicked like gunshots on the pavement
The air on Fifth Avenue was crisp. They spent two hours walking through the VIP rooms of Dior and Chanel Clara ordering champagne while Anissa boughtanything she briefly glanced at.
As they walked out of the Chanel flagship store, Anissa carrying nothing while a security guard trailed behindthem with the bags, Clara suddenly stopped dead In her tracks.
“Oh look what the garbage truck dropped off." Clara sneered. Anissalooked up
Walking directly toward them on the crowded sidewalk was Trent Vance, 241% 15231 |
«(
Chapter 40 Ti +120 Points at most Connor Snow's former frat brother and most obnoxious sycopnant. He looked terrible. His suit was off-the-rack, slightly wrinkled. The arrogant aura he used to carry when he rode Connor's coattails was completely gone
Hanging off his good arm was a stunningly beautiful, heavily botoxed woman. It was Melody Caims, a C-list soap opera actress who had clearly swooped in to pick up the pieces of Trent's shattered ego. She was carrying three shoppingbags from mid-tier designerbrands.
The four of them stopped. The pedestrian traffic flowed around them like water around stones.
Trent stared at Anissa. His breath caught in his throat. She looked like a goddess. The white suit, the flawless makeup, the absolute aura of untouchable power-she was a thousand times more beautiful and more terrifying than the quiet, overlooked girl who used to trail after Connor A sickening wave of regret-not for love, but for a colossal missed opportunity twisted his stomach.
Melody felt Trent tense. She looked at Anissa, her eyes narrowing with instant insecurity. She recognized her from the tabloids
Melody plastered on a fake, sugary smile. ‘Oh my god, Trent, isn't this Connor's ex? The one he dumped?” Melody looked Anissa up and down. “Wow. | guess thai breakup settlement really bought you a nice makeover. Enjoyingthe alimony?"
Anissa didn't even blink She looked at Melody the way one looks at a smear of dirt on a white shoe. She didn't say a word.
Clara, however, st epped forward, her red trench coat flaring.
“Alimony?* Clara laughed, a sharp, barking sound that made heads turn. “Honey, are you illiterate or just stupid? The woman standing in front of you is the legal Matriarch of the Snow Empire That brokenwinged pigeon you're holding onto has to call her Auntie She could buy your entire television network and cancel your show before lunch"
Melodys fake smile shattered, Her face turned a violent shade of magenta. She looked at Trent for defense, but Trent was staring at the ground his face pale,
“Shut your mouth," Trent hissed at Clara, his humiliation bollingover. He looked up at Anissa, his eyes filled with venom. "You think you've won, Anissa? You think you're a queen? Connor is rotting in some European backwater because of you! But Harding doesn't love you. He's usingyou to secure the trust. You'e just a prop. He's probably sle eping with 52% 1532 ml
dab 8 +120 Points at most someone in London right nowt*
The words doesn't love you and London hit Anissa directly in her open wound. Her expression didn't change even a fraction of an inch but the faint, mocking smile on her fips vanished entirely. She took a slow, deliberate st ep forward. The sheer, terrifying weight of her silent presence forced Trent to instinctively st ep backward, dragging Melody with him
Anissa looked at Trent's terrified eyes.
“My marriage is none of your concern Anissa said, her voice low, lethal purr. ‘But let me make one thing very clear, Trent. | own this city now. If | ever see your face on Fifth Avenue again, | will make sure your family's litle hedge fund joins Connorin exile.
Trent's jaw clamped shut. He shrank back, completely emasculated in front of his new girlfriend and half of Manhattan. Anissa didn’ wait for a response She tured to Clara
‘I'm bored," Anissa announced loudly. ‘Let's go to Harry Winston. | need some new diamonds.”
She walked past Trent, her shoulder brushinghis leaving him standing on the sidewalk in absolute, crushingdefeat.
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< Marrying My Exs Powerful Bilonare Un... #* 4190 Points at most