Her Sister Humiliated Her For Being Infertile And Sold Her To A Poor Man — But The Mafia Boss Refused To Let Anyone Hurt Her Spotlight8

CHAPTER 1

Paige Holloway was twenty-eight years old, an accountant at a small shipping company in Boston, living a life so quiet it was almost invisible. She existed like a shadow, drifting through the city without leaving any trace behind.

That evening, her phone rang. Her father’s name flashed across the screen. Gerald Holloway hardly ever called unless something serious had happened.

“Paige,” his voice trembled, rough and raw. “Come home right now.”

She grabbed her coat and crossed the city in the middle of the night. The old Holloway family house looked ruined and hollow—paint peeling, yard overgrown, not a single light on except in the living room.

Gerald sat in the dark, fifty-eight years old but looking seventy. His hair had gone completely white, his back bent with age and defeat.

“I owe money, Paige. A lot of money.”

She waited.

“Two million eight hundred thousand dollars.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

“Gambling,” Gerald gave a bitter laugh. “After your mother died, I couldn’t bear it. I turned to the casinos. The debt came from an underground casino. When I couldn’t pay, they sold it to someone else.”

He stopped, swallowed hard.

“The Kincaid organization.”

Paige knew the name. Everyone in Boston knew it. The Kincaid organization controlled the harbor, the real estate, and many other things people only dared to whisper about.

“They gave me one choice,” Gerald looked up, his eyes red and fevered. “Not money. They don’t need money.”

“Then what do they want?”

Gerald stayed silent for a long moment.

“They want one of my two daughters.”

Paige shot to her feet, her heart pounding out of control.

“The man at the head of that organization—Reed Kincaid—wants to marry one of my daughters.” Gerald lowered his head. “All of Boston calls him the Grey Wolf. No one knows his face. All anyone knows is that he controls everything, and the people who cross him disappear without a trace.”

Before Paige could respond, the living room door flew open.

Brooke stepped inside, her eyes red from crying, yet her mouth curved into a strange smile.

Brooke Holloway was twenty-six, beautiful in the kind of way that made people turn their heads. She knew she was beautiful, and she used that beauty like a weapon.

“I heard everything,” Brooke said, her voice trembling yet edged with something sharp and cold. “Every single word.”

“Brooke, let me explain—”

“Explain what? Explain that you want to sell me to a criminal? To a man whose name no one in Boston even dares to say out loud? What do you think I am?”

“This is the only way,” Gerald said, his voice worn down with exhaustion. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do have a choice,” Brooke screamed. “But not me. I have Spencer. Spencer Whitmore, the only son of the Whitmore family. He loves me. He’s going to propose to me in a few months. My future is a mansion on Beacon Hill. Not some life with a mafia man hiding in some dark corner of the world.”

“Brooke, this is my decision—”

“I will never accept this,” Brooke shouted. “If you force me, I won’t survive it. I’d rather die.”

Then she turned and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking echoed through the house.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then a loud crash came from Brooke’s room—bottles shattering, objects hitting the floor.

Gerald jumped to his feet. They pounded on the door, but no answer came. Gerald slammed his shoulder into the door once, twice. On the third hit, it burst open.

Brooke was lying on the floor, her eyes closed, surrounded by the mess of a fallen vase and shattered glass.

Gerald cried out like a wounded animal.

Minutes later, sirens cut through the night.

At the hospital, the doctor came out, his expression strangely calm. “She’s fine. It was a temporary collapse brought on by extreme emotional stress.”

Gerald sobbed with relief, but Paige stood motionless, her mind fitting the pieces together.

The calculated chaos. The loud noise. The way Brooke had positioned herself on the floor. The way she had said she’d rather die with just the right amount of drama in her voice.

It was all an act.

Brooke hadn’t wanted to die. She wanted her father to be so terrified that he’d never dare force her again.

And she had succeeded.

Paige looked through the glass of the hospital room and saw Brooke lying in bed. Gerald sat beside her, holding her hand, tears streaming down his face.

Then Brooke opened her eyes. The first thing she did wasn’t cry. She didn’t reach for her father.