Orchestrated Accidents: A Heiress's Revenge

They told me one of them would be my husband. Seven men, groomed by my father to be part of our music empire. I only ever wanted one: Devon Valenzuela, the band's brilliant, brooding lead singer.

But the night I caught him kissing his "sister," Delilah, I learned the devastating truth. The seven of them weren't rivals for my hand; they were a pack, united in a secret pact to protect her. I was just a variable in their game.

They orchestrated "accidents" to keep me dependent-a near-miss in the studio, a fall from my horse that left me with a broken leg. Devon played the part of the doting fiancé perfectly, nursing me back to health.

Then I overheard him confessing to another band member.

"It was the only way to get her attention," he said. "The bone breaking… that was an accident. Not part of the plan."

At my 21st birthday party, he humiliated me by broadcasting a video of my most private confessions of love for him to all our guests. But he didn't know I had a video of my own-one that would expose his precious Delilah and tear their entire world apart.

Chapter 1

They told me one of them would be my husband, my partner, the future of our empire. They never told me he' d be someone else' s lover, or that his devotion to her was the reason for my relentless heartbreak.

My name is Amira Estrada. I am an heiress, the sole child of the legendary music mogul, Julian Estrada, and the future of Estrada Records. My life was supposed to be a gilded cage, but a gilded cage nonetheless. My father meticulously groomed seven young men to be part of our family, part of the "Estrada Fellows." They were prodigies, each exceptional in their own right-a band he' d discovered and nurtured, destined for global stardom. And one of them, he decreed, would one day be my husband, the man who would stand beside me to inherit everything.

I knew who I wanted it to be. I had always known.

Devon Valenzuela.

He was the lead singer, the primary songwriter. His voice had a raw, aching quality that spoke to my soul. His lyrics, even darker, laid bare a vulnerability he never showed the world. He was brilliant, distant, and utterly captivating. A brooding storm cloud with a hidden sun. I loved him with a fierce, unwavering devotion that had been a part of me for as long as I could remember.

I spent years trying to chip away at his walls, to prove to him that my love was real, that I saw past the music, past the fame, to the quiet, tortured soul underneath. I' d bring him his favorite coffee, leave notes with song ideas I knew he'd appreciate, just sit silently in the studio for hours, absorbing his presence. He would just nod, sometimes a curt "thanks," and then turn back to his work. His eyes,