His Wives, Their Treachery, His Redemption

As the sole heir to the Pittman dynasty, I was presented with three marriage proposals. They were from the daughters of Boston's most powerful families-Kortney, Danielle, and Jinnie, my childhood friends whom I had loved my entire life.

But my life became a series of tragedies. I married them one by one, and one by one, they died protecting the same man: Jeb Clayton, the son of our estate manager.

On her deathbed, my third wife, Jinnie, confessed the devastating truth.

"We only ever loved Jeb."

She told me they married me for my power, using the Pittman name as a shield to keep their low-status lover safe and in their lives.

My marriages, their deaths-it was all a lie. I wasn't a husband; I was a bodyguard, a cuckolded fool in their tragic romance.

I spent a lifetime as a supporting character and died an old man, alone, with only the city's pity for company. My entire life had been a cruel joke, and I was the punchline.

Until I opened my eyes again.

I was twenty-four, standing before my parents, with the same three velvet boxes on the table.