Carving My Heart Without You
Language: en
On the night of our seventh anniversary, Chelsea ladled a bowl of savory chicken broth for me, then slid a contract across the polished marble kitchen island. “I know you’ve always wanted your own gallery,” she said, her voice smooth, almost casual. “It opens next month.” I stared at her, my heart leaping with a sudden, breathless hope. She offered me a faint, amused smile. “Actually, Jesse, there’s something I haven’t been entirely honest about. That million-dollar debt from years ago? It was never real. I’m the sole heiress to the Whitmore estate. The struggle, the tight budgets—it was…