But she wasn’t interested in being careful. She believed her tricks in bed—or whatever version of it she could manage—would be enough to keep him around.
On their wedding night, no matter what tricks she pulled out of her twisted little playbook, he still turned on her. Said she disgusted him.
Word spread like wildfire. The guy’s family kicked her out like yesterday’s garbage. The engagement was called off before the wedding cake had even been cut. Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water.
She lost everything—her pride, her place in high society and the engagement.
Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water.
And then she blamed me for it all.
She poured gasoline on me and set me on fire.
“You bitch! If it weren’t for you talking me out of the surgery, I wouldn’t be a laughingstock right now!”
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that exam room—the very day she told me her secret.
——
“Seriously, Fran, it’s the 21st century. You really gotta stop thinking like a nun,” she giggled, twisting her waist like she was auditioning for a music video.
“There are so many ways I can make a guy happy—way more than just that one,” she purred, licking her lips seductively.