Claire Winters

Three days. That’s how close I was to marrying Alistair, the man I’d loved for six years, the man whose life I’d literally saved with my own rare blood. I was just admiring the final pearl on my wedding dress, a gown I’d poured my soul into, when he called.

The wedding? Off. He was marrying my stepsister, Ivy. Her dying wish, he said. Six months to live, maybe less.

The kicker? He’d already taken my wedding dress from my studio for her.

Just like that, six years, countless transfusions, our shared dreams – all tossed aside for the girl who’d made my life a living hell since childhood. He even offered me “compensation,” as if my future had a price tag.

But if Alistair and Ivy thought I’d just crumble, they seriously underestimated me. They wanted my fiancé? Fine. But it would cost them. First, our multi-million-dollar fashion company, Evening Gala – built on my designs, my vision. He signed it over. Then, a cool million for the stolen dress. He paid. Another million for the wedding jewelry they dared to ask me to hand over for Ivy. Cha-ching.

You’d think they’d learn. But no. Their next proposal was the most insulting yet: Alistair actually suggested that I should just wait. That after Ivy’s ‘inevitable’ passing in a few months, he and I could just pick up where we left off, have an even better wedding. Seriously?

Enough was enough. If Ivy wanted to play bride with my life, she was going to get a taste of what happens when you push someone too far. Let's just say her hospital room celebration involved a lot more smoke, water, and screaming than she bargained for, all thanks to a little wedding gift from yours truly.

Now they know I’m not the same Hazel they could walk all over. I’ve got my company, a pile of their cash, and a whole lot of scores to settle. They think this is over? This game of revenge is just getting started. And believe me, I play to win.

The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption

I led the way up the hill, listening to the sound of my brother's heavy breathing behind me as he carried our father. Each step I took was deliberate, measured—the pace of someone who had waited years for this moment.


"Hurry up," I called over my shoulder without turning around. "Mother has been waiting long enough."


"This... is... insane!" Tanya panted, trying to keep up with us on the steep incline. "Harold needs a hospital, not this twisted revenge fantasy!"


I ignored her, focusing on the familiar path to my mother's grave. The white marble headstone came into view, still pristine after all these years thanks to my regular maintenance payments. The carved lilies caught the afternoon sunlight, creating shadows that danced across my mother's name.


"Here," I said, stopping in front of the grave. "Put him down."


An Apology for Sale