Conte Bowers Dougherty Facebook ad: “���Click to read more chapters”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

1081303001235583

Platforms

Facebook

Relaunches

0

How we count

Ad text

"I'm broke. He is your fiancé now." The words echoed in the dead silence of the AP Economics classroom at St. Jude’s Preparatory Academy. I stopped halfway down the aisle, my four-inch Louboutins clicking against the hardwood floor. I slowly lowered my diamond-encrusted Hermes Birkin onto the nearest desk and looked at the boy sitting in the back row. Julian Sterling. Old money. Boston royalty. The boy my father, a self-made Texas real estate tycoon, had paid an astronomical sum to arrange a marriage with. My father always felt our family lacked the "pedigree" of the East Coast elite. To cure his inferiority complex, he secured this engagement for me. Julian sat with his long legs kicked up on his mahogany desk, spinning a solid gold lighter between his fingers. His lips were curled into a sneer of pure disgust, his eyes raking over my outfit—the flashy designer logos, the undeniable aura of new money. "Looking for Julian Sterling?" Julian mocked, his voice dripping with condescension. He didn't even bother to stand up. He just pointed a lazy finger toward the back corner of the room, near the recycling bins. "There you go. That’s him." I turned my head. Crouching by the bins was a boy crushing empty plastic bottles and shoving them into a battered canvas bag. He wore a faded, standard-issue school uniform that had clearly been washed a hundred times. The collar was frayed. The soles of his worn-out canvas sneakers were peeling away. Hearing the commotion, the boy looked up. My breath caught in my throat. His face was a masterpiece of harsh, masculine angles. A straight, arrogant nose, a razor-sharp jawline, and eyes so dark and cold they looked like a frozen lake in the dead of winter. There was a lone-wolf danger in his gaze, a raw, untamed edge that screamed 'keep out'. He was breathtaking. Also, completely destitute. I frowned, turning back to Julian. "What is this?" Julian laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that made his circle of wealthy friends erupt into snickers. "You didn't hear? The Sterling family's supply chain collapsed overnight. We're bankrupt. The great Sterling heir can't even afford a hot meal anymore. He has to dig through the trash to pay rent." The classroom broke into cruel laughter. "New money trash paired with a bankrupt beggar! A match made in heaven!" "I give the Texas princess three days before she runs crying to her daddy to break the engagement." I ignored them. The laughter was white noise. My mind was playing back the advice my father gave me before I boarded the private jet to Boston. “Sera, baby, we have more money than God. What we need is a handsome, educated man to marry into our family and give us some class. I don’t care how arrogant he acts. If he runs into trouble, you hit him with money. You bury him in cash. We can afford it.” Understood. Bankrupt? Who cares. With a face like that, I would gladly buy him just to keep him around as eye candy. I turned my back on Julian and walked straight toward the boy by the bins. My heels clicked like a countdown. He was tying the knot on his canvas bag. His knuckles were white from the strain, and I noticed the angry red skin on the back of his hands—windburn from working outside in the brutal autumn chill. I reached into my Birkin, pulled out my titanium black Centurion card, and held it right in front of his face. "Julian Sterling?" I asked, my voice steady and commanding. He froze. He slowly lifted his head, those bottomless black eyes locking onto mine. He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. "I'm Seraphina Vance. Your fiancée." I leaned down, the scent of my expensive Tom Ford perfume washing over him. I slipped the heavy metal card into the front pocket of his frayed uniform shirt. As I did, I deliberately flattened my palm against his chest. Solid muscle. Hot beneath the thin fabric. My pulse jumped. "Don't worry about the bankruptcy," I whispered, my lips close enough to his ear that I felt him shiver. "I'll keep you." The classroom went dead silent. The suffocating tension was palpable. Julian’s mocking laughter died in his throat, his face twisting into an ugly expression of shock and outrage. It wasn’t until much later that I found out the truth. The arrogant jerk sitting on the desk was the real Julian Sterling. The boy I just claimed was Cassian Thorne. The only full-ride scholarship student at St. Jude’s. The undisputed genius of the senior class. And the poorest kid in the zip code. But I didn't know that then. All I knew was that my beautiful, ruined fiancé needed my money. And I was going to give him everything.

Where the ad sends people

11-433.novelmuster.com

���Click to read more chapters