Your Love is Irrelevant to Me
Zusammenfassung
I gave him my life, but he only cared for his true love’s tears. As I lay dying, his birthday gift to me was a naked portrait of them together.
But a new heart gave me a new life. I took back my name, my fortune, and my dignity, personally dragging him from the heavens down into the gutter. I left him with nothing.
Years later, the man who cast me aside knelt before me in a blizzard, begging madly for forgiveness.
I simply smiled, a stranger’s smile. "Sir, you have me mistaken for someone else."
Kapitel1
The first sign that death was near was the incessant, sterile beeping of the heart monitor. It was a soundtrack I had grown accustomed to, a frantic, electronic rhythm counting down the last moments of my life.
My congenital heart condition, a flaw in my design since birth, was finally winning its long war. I lay in the cold, white expanse of the VIP hospital suite, feeling the life drain from me like sand from an hourglass.
With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over the only name that mattered. Julian.
My husband.
I pressed the call button, a desperate, foolish hope flickering in the wreckage of my heart. It rang once, twice, before he picked up.
“What is it, Seraphina?” His voice was cold, impatient, a thousand miles away.
“Julian,” I rasped, my own voice a foreign, reedy sound. “The doctors… they said it’s critical. Please… can you come?”
A sigh, heavy with annoyance, crackled through the speaker. “Chloe has a terrible migraine. I can’t leave her.” He paused, and his next words were the first shovelful of dirt on my grave. “Are you using this little illness to get my attention again? Honestly, Seraphina, you’re so tiresome.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the blank screen of my phone, the beeping of the monitor suddenly deafening. He thought my failing heart was a tactic. A manipulative ploy for the attention he so freely gave to another woman.
Chloe Miller. His assistant. His white moonlight. His true love.
And I? I was just his wife. The inconvenient, sickly heiress to the de la Croix fortune, a name he had married for power, a woman he had never pretended to love.
The pain in my chest was no longer just physical. It was the sharp, jagged agony of a love that refused to die, even as I was.
***
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