Chapter 1
Everyone said Damien Lancaster was madly in love with me.
Even after my mother and I were kicked out of the house, he still went through with the
engagement.
To give me the perfect wedding, he rehearsed the ceremony 99 times alone.
What they didn’t know was that those brides at the wedding were picked by drawing lots from the 99 canaries Damien kept in his gilded cage.
“Jasmine, you’re already Mrs. Lancaster,” he said. “Giving each of them a wedding once–what’s so wrong with that?”
Numb, I took the box of
Cash he handed me and turned to rush to the hospital.
It wasn’t until the day of what should have been my wedding–when he walked down the aisle holding the hand of his father’s illegitimate daughter–Vivian Monroe–that I finally broke down and asked, “Anyone else would’ve been fine. Why her?”
Damien curled his lips into a faint smile. “She’s pregnant with my child.”
He added, almost mockingly, “Come on, Jasmine, be generous. Don’t be like your mother- growing old and still relying on her daughter to beg for her medical bills!”
Under the guests‘ scornful stares, I clutched the money and fled in humiliation.
And just as I arrived at the hospital gates, I saw my mother leap from the rooftop.
Her blood splattered across my face.
Eyes wide
open,
with her last breath, she whispered to me,
“Jasmine Sinclair… stop begging him.”
I held her body as it grew stiff in my arms, my blood frozen, mouth open, but not a single sound
came out.
Damien’s name flashed on my phone. I answered instinctively.
His voice was lazy, almost casual. “Jasmine, it’s our wedding night–mine and Vivian’s. We ran out
of condoms. Pick some up on your way back, will you?”
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My fingers trembled as I moved to hang up, but his voice came through again.
“Oh, and grab some milk candy too. The girl’s scared it’ll hurt. I need something to soothe her.”
The scene of that rainy night flashed in my mind–the night Damien came to our run–down
apartment, took us in, slipped a ring on my finger and whispered, “Were you hiding from me? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Even if you’re not the real heiress of the Monroe family, you’re still my wife. I’ll give you the perfect wedding you deserve.”
That first night
spent together–when the pain brought tears to my eyes–he slipped a milk candy into my mouth, kissed my forehead and murmured, “Sweetheart, will a little sugar make you forgive me?”
I knew about his reputation. I knew he kept women like toys.
But I still fell for him, greedily, hopelessly.
I never cared about the other canaries because I thought he was just playing a role.
But Vivian Monroe was different.
He allowed her to carry his child.
We were married for five years. Even at his most passionate, Damien always used protection.
Turns out, I wasn’t special. I was just the fool.
He always ended the call first.
And this time, again, he did.
I stood there, dazed, watching the funeral home staff wheel my mother’s body away.
When they handed me the tiny urn, I finally broke. The sob tore through my throat, raw and uncontrollable.
Just then, my phone rang.
“Miss Sinclair? The DNA test results are in. Your mother… she’s the biological daughter of Mr. Sinclair Sr., who went missing decades ago.”
“Your flight is booked. Would you like to moot ve
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terrifying as the rumors say.”
I clutched my mother’s urn to my chest, tears pouring down my cheeks.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll go.”
