My Marriage License, His Public Fall

From the back cover

For five years, I was the secret wife of billionaire Chace Bentley, hiding in the shadows because he swore it was the only way to protect me from his ruthless family.

But when his security guards dragged me out of his gala by my hair, breaking my ribs while the crowd jeered at the "delusional stalker," Chace didn't save me.

He stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, and watched me bleed with cold, dead eyes.

I thought I had hit rock bottom in that jail cell, until I found the documents in his safe.

A prenuptial agreement with a socialite named Celina.

And a trust fund for their future children.

When I confronted him, he didn't beg for forgiveness.

He laughed.

"Everything you own, the clothes on your back, the roof over your head, it's all because of me. My charity."

He thought he had broken me.

He thought I was just a disposable pawn in his rise to power.

But he forgot that I still held the one thing that could destroy him: our original marriage license.

On the day of his grand engagement announcement, I didn't hide.

I walked onto the stage, took the microphone, and introduced myself to the world.

"I'm Gracelyn Weeks, and I'm Chace Bentley's wife."