The Fortune of Betrayal
img img The Fortune of Betrayal img Chapter 1
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Chapter 4 img
Chapter 5 img
Chapter 6 img
Chapter 7 img
Chapter 8 img
Chapter 9 img
Chapter 10 img
Chapter 11 img
Chapter 12 img
Chapter 13 img
Chapter 14 img
Chapter 15 img
Chapter 16 img
Chapter 17 img
Chapter 18 img
Chapter 19 img
Chapter 20 img
Chapter 21 img
Chapter 22 img
Chapter 23 img
Chapter 24 img
Chapter 25 img
Chapter 26 img
Chapter 27 img
Chapter 28 img
Chapter 29 img
Chapter 30 img
Chapter 31 img
Chapter 32 img
Chapter 33 img
Chapter 34 img
Chapter 35 img
Chapter 36 img
Chapter 37 img
Chapter 38 img
Chapter 39 img
Chapter 40 img
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Chapter 1

The crystal chandeliers of the Miller Estate ballroom cast a golden glow, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the murmur of California' s elite.

It was the annual "Vintage Harvest Charity Ball," a night dedicated to my grandmother' s philanthropy, a night that usually made me proud.

Tonight, it was a stage for my public execution.

I stood by the podium, ready to speak, a soft smile on my face for the assembled guests.

Then Tori, my fiancée, Victoria Lexington, glided to my side.

Her smile was too bright, her eyes too hard.

Before I could introduce her, she snatched the microphone from its stand.

"Alex is wonderful," she began, her voice echoing, silencing the room, "but our paths, they' re diverging."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

"I' ve found someone," Tori declared, her voice ringing with a manufactured sincerity, "someone who sees the real me, someone who offers true, authentic love."

She gestured dramatically, and from the edge of the stage, Chase Ryder, a fitness influencer with a blindingly white smile, swaggered forward.

He was all bronzed skin and sculpted muscles, the antithesis of my family' s understated world.

Tori pulled him close, her hand possessively on his arm. "This is Chase. He' s shown me a life away from suffocating expectations, a life of freedom."

My blood ran cold. This wasn't happening.

The whispers started, a low hiss that grew louder. My grandmother, seated at the main table, looked pale. My grandfather, Arthur Miller, his face a granite mask, watched Tori with an unnerving stillness. His eyes, usually warm when they met mine, were now chips of ice.

I stepped towards Tori. "What are you doing?" My voice was low, tight.

"I'm following my heart, Alex," she said, loud enough for the front rows to hear, a saccharine pity in her tone.

Chase puffed out his chest. "Yeah, man. It' s about authenticity. You wouldn' t understand."

He actually said that. To me. At my family' s event.

The air crackled. My grandfather' s gaze didn't waver from Tori, and for the first time, I saw not just disapproval, but a cold, dangerous promise in his eyes.

This wasn't just an embarrassment; it was a declaration of war against the Millers.

            
            

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