“If you need help, call me. Anytime.” Instead of a wedding gift, a tall, gloomy stranger hands me a business card. It has only a number and a name: “Zakhar.”
“Why do you want to help me?” I tug at my wedding dress.
“Because you need help, Polina. And something tells me you won’t have any other defenders.”
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I thought there was no more deceptive fairy tale than Cinderella. But marrying Roman Potapov convinced me otherwise.
I walked to the altar like a true princess—beautiful, innocent, confident that the groom loved me too and dreamed of a long, happy life.
The fairy tale ended on the threshold of the bedroom on the first night of our marriage. Another woman was waiting in my husband’s bed. Too beautiful for me to compete with. Judging by the round belly, she was pregnant. And painfully similar to the young wife of my father-in-law.
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The continuation of the story is in the book «Wife for the Mayor. A Deal with the Ex»