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 picked up a piece of tender beef from the simmering hotpot and placed it carefully on Quentin's plate. "Here, try this one. It's perfectly cooked."


"Thanks, Hazel." Quentin smiled appreciatively.


Sebastian cleared his throat beside me. "Hazel, I think Quentin is capable of serving himself." His voice was calm, but I caught the underlying tension.


I rolled my eyes. "I'm just being polite, Sebastian."


"Very polite," Sebastian remarked, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Perhaps too polite."


The waiter approached with another plate of thinly sliced meats. Sebastian immediately took control, arranging the platters so that most were closer to him and me, subtly creating a barrier between Quentin and me.


"So, Quentin," Sebastian said, his voice deceptively casual as he placed several choice cuts into the bubbling broth. "Have you worked with Hazel long?"


"Almost three years now," Quentin replied, seemingly oblivious to Sebastian's territorial display.


An Intimate Invitation