A Little White Lie
Description
Tiffany was abandoned by her parents at three years old and then adopted by her multi-millionare stepfather, Hwang MinSook. At the legal age of 21, she now works for him at his company-as his primary assassin. But she is sick of doing the dirty work and wants to somehow break into the world of business. But that all changes when her father signs a piece of paper enslaving her to a lifetime of torture.
A marriage contract.
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Luhan was born with a gold spoon in his mouth. One that was 24-carat and encrusted with diamonds. And, speaking figuratively, he was allergic to gold. But everyone changes and eventually, he starts competing with his brother for ownership of the company. When he’s forced into a preplanned marriage, his dreams of power crumble....
Foreword
To other people, it was the difference between success and failure.
To Tiffany, it was merely just a test- one where she already knew all the answers.
Tiffany twisted her hair up, expertly inserting hair pins to secure her hair back, carefully arranging them so that the sharp blades were concealed underneath her raven black hair. Satisfied, she uncapped her lipstick and applied it, like the finishing touch on a masterpiece. The dark crimson shade commanded attention, like a bright smear of blood on Tiffany’s pale skin.
The antique wall clock hanging above Tiffany’s dresser struck eleven, and she stood abruptly, the sheer fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light of her apartment. The click of high heels resounded firmly through the empty hall, piercing through the eerie silence. The door slammed.
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To other people, it was the difference between wealth and poverty.
To Luhan, it was nothing more than a gamble- one where he always held the best hand of cards.
Shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights hanging limply from the ceiling of the hotel’s dressing room, Luhan did a quick check in the mirror before he entered the banquet hall. His suit was crisp and spotless, sent straight from the dry cleaners’ for its one time purpose. his shoes were shined, his hair was gelled back slickly.
But none of that was what he was looking for. He narrowed his eyes, intensely scrutinizing his reflection, his gaze aimed towards his hand. It was barely noticeable, but a slight bulge jutted out from his right sleeve, but so subtly that it could’ve easily been mistaken as his wrist, or a watch. But it wasn’t.
It was a hand gun, the handle sewn into Luhan’s sleeve, held together by a few loose threads that could easily be torn away with a forced pull. Luhan smirked into the mirror. His reflection smirked back.
It was showtime.
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