Blurb：
Aria, a fallen noblewoman with a mysterious past, finds herself entangled with the ruthless Dark Prince, Kaelen. As political intrigue threatens the kingdom, their forbidden passion ignites. Will Aria uncover the truth behind her family’s betrayal? Can Kaelen’s cold heart be melted by love? Dive into a world of secrets, power struggles, and sizzling romance.
Key elements: Enemies-to-lovers, hidden identities, royal drama, and a strong heroine fighting for justice. Perfect for fans of fantasy romance with complex characters like Aria and Kaelen.
Content：
At the company’s celebration dinner, the new HR guy slapped a bill on the table—$860 for A/C and venue costs from our last all-nighter.
I shot a look at Sherry—my girlfriend, my boss—thinking she’d have my back.
Nope. She latched onto HR’s arm and said, Quentin, this isn’t your daddy’s company. Quit freeloading.
And just like that, nine years of busting my ass for this company, and turns out—I was the discount item on the menu.
Chapter 1
A bill hit the table between Sherry Twain and me.
Daniel Jenkin—new HR guy with a Harvard ego—flashed a smug grin. “AC charges for sales’ overtime. $860. Split it.”
His voice was so oily I felt like I needed a shower. “Sherry says we’re trimming fat. Gotta boost efficiency.”
Silence. Like, dead silent.
Our sales crew had just landed a million-dollar deal, and now their smiles were stuck mid-celebration.
I shot Sherry a look sharp enough to slice steel.
She was the boss. My girlfriend for nine years.
Right now? Her hand was curled around Daniel’s arm.
Didn’t even look at me. Just threw shade at the whole team. “Quentin, this isn’t your daddy’s company. Quit freeloading.”
Daniel, riding high on Sherry’s approval, whipped out a tiny notebook.
“New rules,” he announced. “One: to save water, bathroom breaks get timed. Five minutes a day, tops.
“Two: wanna use an A4 sheet? Cool—just write a 2,000-word essay explaining why.
“Three: break room water cap—500 milliliters per person. Go over? We dock your pay.”
Each line landed like a slap. My team’s faces darkened by the second.
Ronnie finally snapped. “Daniel Jenkin, what is this? Are we slaves now?”
Daniel barely blinked. “If you can’t handle advanced management, you’re replaceable.”
Sherry jumped in like a reflex. “Ronnie! Show some respect! Don’t like it? Leave.”
I laughed, dead cold. “Come again, Sherry?”
Sherry’s brows pinched, dripping with attitude. “Daniel’s a Harvard star, elite HR. His word’s policy. You’re just sales. Stay in your lane.”
“Harvard?” I laughed louder. “Did they teach him how to kill a celebration dinner mid-toast?”
Daniel’s face went ghost-white.
Sherry slammed the table. “Quentin Quinn! How DARE you!”
I grabbed the champagne in front of me and strolled over to the tower.
Everyone froze.
Then—crash.
The champagne poured down like gold rain, flooding every glass.
Soaked Daniel head to toe.
He exploded. Literally screamed.
I tossed the glass and faced Sherry.
One word at a time: “This celebration? Canceled. Sales director? I quit.”
Grabbed my bag. Walked.
Behind me, no hesitation.
“Quentin, wait up!”
“Screw this dump. Let ’em drown in their own mess!”
Chairs scraped back like thunder. All twelve of them followed me out of that suffocating room.
Sherry’s voice shrieked behind us. “Quentin! You walk out that door, don’t come back! We don’t need you!”
I didn’t even flinch.
Without us, Sherry, you’re done.
Chapter 2
When I got back to the place Sherry and I called “home,” the door code was changed.
Called her. No answer.
Stood outside in the cold for half an hour.
Then she finally rolled up—with Daniel riding shotgun, dragging it out just to rub it in.
He got out first, rocking my limited-edition sneakers.
Clung to Sherry’s arm, smirking like he owned the lease.
Sherry unlocked the door, all attitude. “What are you whining about now? Can’t you see the company’s a mess?”
I didn’t say a word. Just headed straight for the bedroom, yanked out two suitcases, and started packing.
Opened the closet—half my stuff was on the floor. Daniel’s clothes took over the rack.
He leaned in the doorway, smug as hell. “Sorry, Quentin. I’ve got a lot of stuff. Sherry said you barely used yours anyway, so we packed it up.”
I bit down the fury and kept packing, one item at a time.
Then I saw it—the old Marketing notebook Sherry and I used to study with—jammed under a table leg.
I pulled it out, ready to toss it.
Daniel shrieked. “Don’t touch that! That table’s custom Italian, worth tens of thousands! You break it, you’re paying!”
Sherry stormed in, finger in my face. “Quentin! What is YOUR problem? Pack your crap and leave!”
I snapped. “Did you forget how this company started? Who sold off their only inheritance to fund it? Who stood in a storm for eight hours to land our first client?”
Every word hit like a slap.
Her face lit up red. Not from guilt. From rage.
She tried to wipe it all clean. “Why dig up the past? I’m the CEO. My rules. You lived off me for nine years! Without me, you’d still be crammed on the subway! Who do you think you are, yelling at ME?”
That one cut deep.
I stared at her—face twisted with guilt masquerading as pride—and felt it.
I was done.
“Every bite I took, I earned. The deals I closed could buy a hundred of you. Without our sales team, your little empire’s a hollow joke. Starting now, we’re done.”
I grabbed my bags and headed for the door.
She jumped in front, blocking me.
She whipped out a calculator like we were settling a bar tab. “Wanna leave? Cool. Pay back EVERYTHING I spent on you.”
And she went off.
“This apartment—five years, $2k a month. That’s 0-020k. Utilities and fees? $5k. BMW 5 Series? I paid in full—$63k. And—”
Daniel chimed in, fake helpful. “Babe, don’t forget the 0-00k for his dad’s hospital bill.”
Sherry smacked her forehead. “Right! Add that too!”
With every word, my heart iced over.
I laughed.
Took off the Armani jacket she gave me. Dropped it right on the floor.
Pulled out a card, slapped it straight to her face. “PIN’s your birthday. There’s $200k on it. That cover it? If not, I’ll take your precious BMW and crash it into a wall.”
The card stung when it hit. She froze.
I shoved past her, dragging my bags without a second glance.
Behind me, her shriek followed like poison. “Quentin! You think walking out with your team matters?! I already warned every supplier, every client! No one’ll work with you! You’ll be broke eating dollar ramen by next week!”
Her voice was pure venom.
I didn’t turn around.
If I had, I might’ve done something I couldn’t take back.
Chapter 3
Day two using the warehouse as our “office,” the roof gave out.
Cold rain dumped straight on my head.
Computers nearly fried. We scrambled, tossing plastic sheets everywhere like sketchy street vendors in a storm.
Day three, the circuit breaker bailed.
Over a hundred degrees inside. The place turned into a steam box.
Ronnie collapsed from heatstroke. I patted his cheeks till he came to. First thing he said? “Quentin, are we screwed?”
Day four, Peggy’s mom showed up.
She pointed right at my face, yelling loud enough to shake the rafters. “You selfish bastard! You dragged my daughter out of a good job for THIS? If anything happens to her, I’ll bury you!”
Morale? Hanging by threads.
Sherry’s blockade felt like a noose tightening around our necks.
Industry forums lit up with posts calling me a scammer who bailed with stolen cash. Hundreds of comments—Disgrace. Fraud. Trash.
I called every old client. Half went straight to voicemail. The rest? “Quentin, how DARE you call? Ms. Twain says you’re dirty.”
One new supplier finally agreed to work with us. Contract ready. Then the owner called, voice stiff. “Mr. Quinn, sorry. Ms. Twain said we’d better not.”
No contacts. No deals. No way out.
A full month. Nothing closed.
My savings? Burned through—rent, payroll, all of it. Gone.
That night, the warehouse felt like a tomb.
Peggy, who’d cried after her mom’s meltdown, finally broke the silence. “Quentin… Ms. Twain’s hiring again. Double pay. I—”
She didn’t finish. Didn’t have to.
Ronnie slammed the table, eyes raw. “If you’re going, just go. I’d rather beg than crawl back there.”
I knew it. If this kept going, the team would break.
Right then, as if the universe had a sick sense of humor, a video call from Daniel lit up my screen.
I answered.
There he was—parked in my old office, grinning.
“Quentin, heard you’re circling the drain. Check out Sherry’s shiny new elite team. We just locked in a $5 million deal.”
He flipped the camera to the table—contract front and center.
My project. The one I spent six months building from scratch.
I did all the work, and now they’re the ones cashing in.
I hung up.
Silence hit the room like a punch.
Like hope had just left with that call.
I grabbed my jacket and stood.
“Come on. Drinks on me. Sky’s not falling.”
Didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to.
Every word said it loud enough—
I’m still here. Still standing.
In a greasy diner with cracked booths, we slumped like busted-up soldiers.
Empty bottles littered the floor.
Everyone was crying, swearing, just letting it all out.
Not me. I just kept drinking.
When the bill came, I realized—no cash. Dead phone.
The shame hit harder than Sherry’s public smackdown.
Ronnie slipped off a sneaker, pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. That’s what kept us from getting kicked out.
I loaded my wasted crew into cabs one by one, then parked myself on the curb.
Cold wind slapped my face.
Phone finally flickered back on—missed calls stacked up like death notices.
Sherry. The landlord. And one labeled ‘Giselle.’
Giselle Besnier.
Heiress of the Besnier family. TrueNorth Capital royalty. I’d only met her once—some bidding event.
No idea why, but I called her back.
“Mr. Quinn?” Her voice was steady. Smooth.
“It’s me, Ms. Besnier.” Mine was all gravel and whiskey.
“Left AetherTech?”
“Yeah.”
“Going solo?”
“Mm.”
She paused. Just for a beat.
“I’ve got a project. $300k. Interested?”
Lightning. Instant sober. “Yes.”
“Tomorrow. 10 a.m. TrueNorth Tower. Bring a proposal.”
Click. She hung up before I could ask a thing.
I looked up at the night sky, pinched my arm.
It stung.
This was real.
Next morning, running on zero sleep and one last shot of hope, Ronnie and I showed up at TrueNorth Tower.
The receptionist looked us over like gum stuck to her desk. “No appointment? Then wait.”
So we did. For an hour. Standing there like a couple of broke nobodies.
Sherry’s new team leader strutted by with his crew, throwing us the kind of look you’d reserve for roadkill.
Finally, someone waved us into a meeting room.
A bald exec slapped our proposal on the table like it offended him. “You think your little garage startup’s worth TrueNorth’s time? Who told you to crawl in here?”
Ronnie’s fists cracked loud enough to echo. I held him back. We were this close to walking out with what little pride we had left.
Then the door opened.
Giselle walked in like the whole floor shifted with her.
She glanced at Baldy. “Peter, do I need your sign-off to make decisions?”
His face turned grape-purple.
She picked up our proposal—didn’t even look at it. “The project’s yours.”
Then her eyes locked on mine. No games. Just fire. “One condition—take it to the limit. Shut every mouth that ever looked down on you.”
My throat tightened. Had a thousand things I wanted to say.
All that came out was, “Got it.”
Sherry Twain. Daniel Jenkin.
Time to play for real.
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