Part 1Echoes in the Dark: The Billionaire's Secret Fiancée

Landon Prescott was the boyfriend I tricked into a relationship.

He was deaf.

My absolute favorite thing to do was take out his hearing aid when we were tangled up in the sheets, whispering filthy things right into his ear.

Until I discovered he was actually the sole heir to the Prescott empire.

So, the night we broke up, things got incredibly ugly.

Landon, his eyes red and furious, told me to get the hell out.

So I did.

It wasn't until three years later, when news of his impending engagement broke, that I finally dared to sneak back to Chicago.

Landon looked at me, his face cold and utterly unreadable. But the second we were alone, he turned around and bound my wrists with his leather belt:

"Where do you think you're running to this time?"

"My... fiancée."

* * *

I lowered my head, pretending to adjust my camera settings.

My palms were already slick with sweat.

I didn't expect to run into Landon so soon.

"Mr. Prescott, don't let Piper's age fool you. She's practically swept every international photography award over the past few years," Monica, the senior editor, patted my shoulder and joked. "It took a small fortune to poach her all the way from Los Angeles."

"I promise you won't regret agreeing to let us shoot your first-ever magazine cover."

Landon Prescott's gaze swept over me coolly, completely devoid of emotion: "Is that so?"

"Then I'll leave it in your capable hands, Ms. Collins."

It was the most standard, corporate pleasantry imaginable.

I lowered my voice, trying to make it sound richer, or at least different from how I sounded years ago:

"Of course, Mr. Prescott."

Landon nodded, not sparing me another glance.

I lowered my eyes, my eyelashes trembling slightly.

He hadn't recognized me.

Makes sense. I had changed my last name.

A medical mask covered half my face, and based solely on my outfit, no one would ever connect the person standing here with the bright, arrogant Piper from the past.

Throughout the entire shoot, Landon was incredibly cooperative.

With just a slight prompt from me, Landon would flawlessly hit the perfect angle.

Behind me, the crew was buzzing with whispers:

"Mr. Prescott's physique is insane, right? I'm literally drooling."

"This Piper Collins is no joke. No wonder Monica paid top dollar for her. Her grasp of anatomy and muscle structure is incredible! Just looking at the monitor, you can feel the raw sexual tension radiating from him under that shirt."

I suddenly zoned out.

My memory flashed to a younger boy with a flushed neck, completely bare.

Even though I had painted him countless times, he was still painfully shy.

Of course, that was only during the first half.

I don't know why, but every time I reached the latter half of the painting process, the location would inexplicably change.

The bedroom, the sofa, the bathtub, against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

It always ended with me exhausted to the bone—more exhausting than drawing ten anatomy sketches!

I angrily kicked him: "Landon, you do this every single time!"

"I'm never painting you again! I'm finding a new model! One with an eight-pack!"

Landon gripped my ankle and said nothing.

After a long moment, he leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth: "Piper, I'm sorry."

I paused.

Is he recognizing his mistake and promising to change?

The next second, Landon took out his hearing aid.

Four boxes of condoms, all different flavors.

I didn't get out of bed for a week.

Dammit, and he even apologized.

How polite of you.

But eventually, we still broke up.

That night, things got incredibly ugly.

Landon's eyes were red-rimmed, his voice freezing cold: "Piper, this is the last time. I don't give second chances."

I kept my head down and gave a low "Mhm."

Landon clenched his jaw, scoffing: "Fine. Get the hell out."

"Don't ever let me see your face again."

"Otherwise, I swear I'll kill you."