The Erased Wife's Spectacular Wedding Revenge

My wedding was perfect.

Every rose. Every note of music. Every lie.

I married Alessandro Moretti believing I was the heroine of a love story.

The heir to the most feared family on the West Coast had chosen me—a

wedding planner from nowhere—over duty, over blood, over the Rossetti

princess his mother had already picked for him.

I thought that meant he loved me.

I was wrong.

The text came through on our wedding night. From her. Gianna Rossetti.

"Now that the wedding's over, when do I finally get you to myself?"

Three days later, Alex looked me in the eye from a hospital bed and

asked, "I'm sorry... who are you?"

Fake amnesia. A staged accident. His mother, his mistress, and the

family doctor—all in on it. They wanted me to walk away quietly. What

I didn't know then was that walking away quietly was the kindest option

on the table. The other one involved a car accident on a winding road

and a funeral no one would question.

Then Don Moretti's man handed me an envelope of cash on the sidewalk

outside the apartment I no longer had a key to. "Start over somewhere

comfortable," he said. "Far from San Francisco."

I took the money.

I didn't leave.

I'm going to plan their wedding now. Gianna and Alex. The princess

and the heir. And when I'm done, every chandelier, every centerpiece,

every last napkin will be a monument to the worst mistake the Moretti

family ever made.

They thought they were giving me an exit.

I'm building them a cage.