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The Day I Left, He Realized He Loved Me

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Blurb

For three years, Florence Hawthorne has kept up a façade as the legitimate heiress, dedicating herself to caring for Lancelot Foster, who has been in a coma for two of those years. She promises to act the part while hiding her true identity.

When Lancelot unexpectedly regains consciousness six months ago, his mother, Evelyn Sullivan, chooses to keep the truth of their arrangement hidden from him. Lancelot, none the wiser, waits until the three-year mark is up and demands she leave the Foster family.

But Florence's world shatters again when she learns of Lancelot's upcoming engagement. The fiancée is none other than her half-sister, Sophia Blake.

Florence can't take it anymore. She resolves to leave and reclaim her rightful place as the Hawthorne heiress. Just then, she discovers she is pregnant.

When she tries to tell Lancelot, Sophia intercepts her and sets her up, plotting to have her r***d. Florence narrowly escapes, driving off in a frenzy, only to end up plunging into the ocean.

After her disappearance, Lancelot realizes just how mesmerizing and multi-faceted his once-quiet, boring wife has been, how her absence is felt deeply and visibly, and how admirers flock to her side in droves.

In desperation, Lancelot drags her to City Hall. "Honey, ready to get remarried?"

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Chapter 1 Have a Fiancée?
The director finally called it a wrap, and Florence Hawthorne left the set, heading back to the villa. As soon as she got out of the shower, someone with a strong hand seized her, pulling her straight into the bedroom. She felt herself being pressed down onto the bed. "Kiss me." Her boyfriend, Lancelot Foster's voice was low and husky, his breath warm against her ear. The scent of alcohol hit her nose, making her wrinkle it in distaste. But she leaned in anyway, bringing her lips to his. The moment their lips met, Lancelot deepened the kiss, forceful and unyielding. "Open your mouth," he murmured between kisses, his hand cradling the back of her neck. The kiss deepened, overwhelming, as his fingers tangled in her soft, light-blue curls. He used his other hand to hold her chin in a tight grip, their breaths blending together in the intimate silence. ***** Since Lancelot had regained consciousness, their relationship had become... complicated. They were intensely close to the walls of Foster Villa. But the moment they stepped outside, he acted as if she were a stranger. Three years ago, a car accident left Lancelot in a vegetative state. When Florence heard the news, she'd done everything she could to learn about his condition, even attempting to sneak into Foster Villa. But Evelyn Sullivan, his mother, had placed strict security around the estate, and Florence failed to get in. In the third month of Lancelot's coma, Evelyn had hired a wife for him, a round-the-clock caretaker at a steep price. Florence had maneuvered her way into Evelyn's trust, keeping her true identity as the Hawthorne heiress under wraps. Yet she and Lancelot had never officially married. Evelyn had put it off time and again. ***** He woke up in the summer of Florence's second year by his side. As he recovered, he launched Galactic Group, which soon dominated the entertainment industry, practically owning half of the media market. Despite the contract nearing its end, he never sent Florence away. Instead, their nights together continued with a steady frequency. However, he wasn't fond of her acting career. Despite Florence's talent, she was among the best of her peers. However, she was rarely cast in significant roles and remained largely unrecognized, relegated to small parts and cameos. Since his recovery, Lancelot preferred keeping her secluded at the villa, blocking her from accepting new roles. In a rare, tender moment, his gaze softened as his hand traced Florence's shoulder. He slid her shirt off, and the night wore on. ***** When Florence awoke the next morning, Lancelot was still fast asleep. He held her tightly against his chest, his warmth pressed to her back. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of his face. Florence could never tire of looking at him, not even after three years. She thought he was handsome, and even his sleeping face was captivating. Just then, she felt a warm touch on her earlobe. "Daydreaming already?" he murmured, his voice gravelly and sensual as he nibbled her ear. Before she could protest, his hand slid beneath her silk nightgown. "Lancelot, I'm... tired," she whispered, trying to wriggle free. "I need a break." At her resistance, Lancelot's expression soured. He tilted her face toward him, pressing a kiss to her lips before finally letting her go. He rose and went to the bathroom, and soon, she heard the sound of running water. Florence rubbed her aching lower back as she sat up, clutching the sheets around herself. Just then, a soft ping echoed from the nightstand, Lancelot's phone. Her eyes drifted to the screen, and she froze. The message read: Lancelot, the family alliance is all set. Bring your fiancée in a few days... She didn't unlock the phone, so only part of the message was visible. But fiancée was enough to stop her in her tracks. 'Wait. Fiancée? Lancelot was getting engaged? And yet I, his supposed wife, hadn't even gotten a divorce. Evelyn is already lining up his next fiancée. Why hadn't he mentioned any of this to me? So, what am I, then?' Florence thought bitterly. 'Duped by Evelyn twice over. We've spent all these nights together, and he couldn't even tell me? Do I not deserve to know at least that much?' The sound of water in the bathroom stopped, and Lancelot stepped out, shirtless, towel in hand, his damp hair falling loosely. Water droplets slid down his neck, over his toned chest and abs, following the curves down to his ankles. His strong, muscular arms and the contours of his abs were exquisitely defined, with every inch of his skin's lines being the epitome of perfection. Florence turned her head slightly, avoiding his gaze. "I saw the message from your mother. Care to explain why you... have a fiancée?"

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