Istriku seorang penipu

ive years ago, on a rainy night, the heir to a long-established California fortune was saved from a car accident by a girl wearing a cracked antique jade pendant. When he woke up, all he could remember was the girl saying to him in the rain: “You’re not dying here.” For the past five years, he had been anonymously supporting his “life-saver” through his family’s charitable foundation, covering her Ivy League tuition, living expenses, her family’s debts, and every other problem she faced. Five years later, he finally found her. Zoe Johnson. Young, beautiful, gentle, an Ivy League graduate, wearing that cracked ancient jade pendant around her neck. George Whitmore didn’t tell her who he was. He posed as a gentle, old-fashioned, slightly boring wealthy businessman, slowly winning her over, proposing to her, and preparing to turn this belated act of gratitude into marriage. But he soon discovered that Zoe had never loved him at all. While playing the role of the gentle fiancée, she was having an affair with her first love, Frank. She conspired with her best friend, Nana, to force him to transfer ownership of his Napa winery, his San Francisco penthouse, and his family trust. Even more ironically, Zoe wasn’t the girl who had saved him five years ago.