Marrying The Wounded King: My Ex's Regret

I stood in the center of the rose garden, convinced the Underboss of the East Coast was finally going to defy his father and put a ring on my finger.

Instead, Desmond walked toward me holding another woman's hand.

"Dallas," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "This is Chelsea. My fiancée."

He told me it was just business, a merger to secure shipping routes. He expected me to stay in the shadows as his mistress, his "pet canary."

When I refused to be his dirty little secret, his family sold me like cattle to Kennedy Simmons, the crippled Don of the West Coast, just to get rid of me.