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Acceptable Service: Tipping The Ruthless Billionaire
img img Acceptable Service: Tipping The Ruthless Billionaire img Chapter 6 6
6 Chapters
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 6 6

The Maybach idled outside the brownstone like a spaceship that had landed in the wrong century.

"You have one hour," August said, not looking up from his tablet. "Take only what matters. I will replace the rest."

Colette stepped out. The cool night air hit her face, but for the first time in years, she didn't feel cold. She felt armored.

She unlocked the front door. Laughter drifted from the living room. Meredith and Tiffany were clinking glasses.

"Did Gorsky like the dress?" Meredith called out, not even turning around.

Colette walked into the room. She stood in the center of the Persian rug. "He didn't see it. He was arrested."

Meredith spun around, her glass sloshing wine onto the floor. "What?"

"I'm moving out," Colette said calmly. "I'm here for my things."

Tiffany jumped up. "You can't leave! Who's going to pay the bills? If you leave, Dad dies!"

"Dad is paid for," Colette said. "In full. His treatment is covered for the next year. You don't have to worry about him. Or me."

Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Where did you get that kind of money? You stole it. You stole the silver!"

"I didn't steal anything."

"I'm calling the police!" Meredith shrieked, reaching for her phone.

The front door opened. Two men walked in. They were massive, wearing earpieces and suits that strained against their shoulders.

"Mrs. Sanders," one of them said, nodding to Colette. "We are here to assist with your luggage."

Silence crashed into the room.

"Sanders?" Tiffany whispered. "Like... the Sanders?"

Colette didn't answer. She turned and walked up the stairs. She packed quickly. Her mother's photo albums. Her restoration tools. A few sweaters. She left the silk dresses, the heels, the things that belonged to this life.

When she came back down, the bodyguards took the bags from her hands.

Meredith was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her face pale. "Colette... honey. If you're... if you're married... we're family. We should celebrate."

Colette stopped. She looked at the woman who had made her life a living hell.

"You stopped being family the moment you put a price tag on my father's life," Colette said.

She walked out the door.

Tiffany ran to the doorway. "You can't just leave us! We have debts!"

Colette got into the car. The heavy door thudded shut, sealing out the noise, the demands, the toxicity.

She slumped against the leather seat. She felt drained, hollowed out.

August glanced at her. "Done?"

"Done," she whispered.

"Good." He handed her a black card. It was metal, heavy and cold. "Buy clothes. Tomorrow. I don't want my wife looking like a refugee."

Colette took the card. She looked at him. He was cruel, transactional, and cold. But he had just saved her life.

"Thank you," she said softly.

August didn't respond. He just signaled the driver. The car pulled away, leaving the brownstone-and her past-in the rearview mirror.

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