The next morning, well before the sun had fully risen, Mia stood in front of the gates of Charles Cornell’s mansion—a quiet, secluded place with restricted access.
The cab driver pulled up to the security entrance, waiting for her to obtain an access pass so they could drive through.
Mia adjusted the strap of her bag, staring at the towering gates. She was simply dressed in a skirt that fell just above her knees and a plain chiffon top.
She looked nothing like what one might expect from a billionaire’s fiancée. No designer labels, no extravagant jewelry—just a simple, refined sense of style.
If anything, she fit in a little too well, like any other visitor rather than someone who belonged there.
The guards noticed her immediately, and one of them stepped forward, eyeing her with the
