100 Days to Ruin Me

My ex dumped me by text.

So naturally, I got drunk, ugly-cried through three bottles of wine, and broke into my best friend’s apartment wearing nothing but a hoodie and a green sheet mask.

What I didn’t know?

He’d sublet it to a green-eyed Bratva killer, hotter than hell, meaner than sin, and absolutely not here for my meltdown.

Now, 100 days later, I’m not just his problem.

I’m his bride. And his baby mama.

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