Pollyanna and the Greek Billionaire (Innocent and Betrayed, Part 3)

By: Marian Tee

Prologue





Pollyanna pulled the strings of her gown in place before reaching behind her for the zip. She struggled for fifteen long minutes, unwilling to ask for help. But when she was finally done, she was close to tears and she hated herself more.

Dragging oxygen into her sob-clogged throat, she turned to face the full-length mirror, but she couldn’t see her reflection at all.

Instead, she saw herself tottering on the edge of a cliff at eighteen, torn between the darkest of terrors and the wildest of hopes.

If she took a leap of faith, what would happen?

But then it had eventually felt too much, became impossible to resist. He had been a god in her eyes, a prince and knight all rolled into one, the way he did everything impossible seem so effortlessly easy.

He was more beautiful than any man she had seen in her life, possessing more power and strength than any man should have. His arrogance had turned her on because it had just felt so…right. He knew what he wanted in his life, and he was willing to do whatever it took to have it.

That wasn’t bad, was it?

And he had wanted her.

How could she not fall for him?

So she had taken that leap, falling over the cliff of no return. She hadn’t known what to expect but it was not to have him beside her, falling with her.

And oh, what a rollercoaster journey it had been.

She remembered the last time they had fought, of the resentment she had tried to shamefully get rid of for not being able to go after her dreams. But then she also remembered his face, the time she had delivered the twins. His look had been indescribable, beyond profound, as he lightly ran his fingers on the soft cheeks of Dio and Ella.

He had turned to her, tears in his eyes, and it had been the first and only time she had seen him cry. He looked like he had glimpsed the most beautiful thing in his life, but that look hadn’t come when he was looking at the twins.

He had that look when he was gazing at her.





Someone knocked on the door, and Pollyanna blinked rapidly as she found herself staring at her tear-stained face on the mirror.

Behind her, she heard Kyr’s voice.

“You don’t have to do this.”

So much guilt in that voice, but it didn’t make her feel good at all.

She squeezed her eyes hard.

I have to be strong.

She needed to do this, but it wouldn’t be for the hundreds of guests waiting for them to celebrate eight years of marriage.

She needed to do this for those four beautiful innocent souls waiting for them outside their room, four wonderful children she had brought into this world to love and not to hurt.

She needed to be strong for them.





****





When Pollyanna came out of the master bedroom’s bath, she was a little too pale, a little too vulnerable, and the first thing she realized was that Kyr wasn’t alone. Leo and the twins had joined him, and the nanny was also there, with their sleeping daughter in her arms.

She saw the fear and worry darkening the twins’ gazes, and her heart lurched.

It wasn’t right that they were worrying about her.

And the thought made her move unthinkingly, her limbs guided by a mother’s innate need to protect.

When a smile broke on their mother’s face, the twins smiled, too, their bodies relaxing. And the worry in their gazes gradually faded as they watched their parents hold hands. Kyr bent down to scoop Leo in his arms while Pollyanna took Annalisa from the nanny.

Together, the six of them walked to the ballroom, and the guests all came to their feet, welcoming them with thunderous applause.

It was almost like her wedding day again, with all eyes on her, and the realization made her eyes blur for one moment.

She was lost in her memories, remembering how she had walked down the aisle, frightened of the way the unknown had loomed in front of her.

What was she doing, marrying at eighteen, and to a man she had only known for barely two months?

She remembered how she had looked up, wanting to cry out that it was a mistake, but then she had seen him—

Kyrillos Gazis.

Waiting for her at the end of the aisle, dashing and debonair, every inch the Greek god he was, and he had her old, big bag slung on one shoulder.

He had everyone laughing hard, and his photos had been all over the Internet in seconds. But he hadn’t cared.

At his most uncool, he had never looked more beautiful to her.

That man had been the sweetest man in the world—

And she had seen that same man kissing another woman on their eighth wedding anniversary.

The sea of faces blurred around her.

Oh, God.

She couldn’t do this.

Her desperate gaze flew to her husband. His face was ashen, his jaw clenched, and she knew then that no matter how much they persisted, he would not do it. At least he had that much honor, at least he seemed to know how it would destroy her, to kiss him now.

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