My Scars Were Never Deceit

Summary

I spent three years at a specialized, private "academy" learning exactly how to worship Celine Blackwood. I studied her favorite vintages, the precise way she liked her espresso at four in the morning, and the subtle physical cues that would make her melt in my arms. I was a master of her heart—or so I thought.

I was confident that my devotion, combined with the refined techniques I’d perfected to please a woman of her stature, would eventually break through her icy exterior. And it worked. When she finally proposed, I thought I had reached the finish line.