เข้าสู่ระบบWell, it was easier to frame her as he kept her away, but still. The jealousy eats at me. "Unbelievable," I laugh bitterly, shaking my head as I take a step back toward the door. "I am trying my best to make things work between us, Deckard. I am out here breaking my back, protecting our son, and bu
I shift my weight, settling my hips comfortably over Deckard’s thighs, and let out a soft, pleased purr. Slowly, deliberately, I run my manicured fingers through his thick, dark hair, massaging his scalp in that slow, rhythmic way I know usually turns his brain to complete mush. He’s sitting on th
He leans forward, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, deeply unsettling whisper as he stares directly into my green contact lenses. "In fact... you don't have to be a maid at all, Candy. I can make all of this manual labor disappear with a single phone call. If you can just agree to be my pri
"Look, Naomi, if Dennise catches you in here, she’s going to—" The distinct, heavy sound of the deadbolt locking echoes through the quiet kitchen. My entire body goes completely rigid. My instincts scream at me, a cold shock of adrenaline instantly shooting straight to my fingertips. That isn't th
I smooth down the front of my oversized, scratchy maid uniform, my fingers tracing the small bruise on my chest from where Caroline's finger violently ripped my dress open at the cemetery yesterday. My skin still feels raw from the humiliation, my eyes are burning from crying all night over Owen, a
The striking, facial structure. Sydney is an absolute, undeniable replica of the woman in the vintage photograph—Tobias’s mother. The almost psychotic protectiveness Tobias has shown toward Sydney from the very first moment he met her. The massive financial safety nets he threw under her, the fact
"Bravo, Sydney!" he calls out, stepping into the light. "I knew you still had that spark." Panic flares in my chest. Is he here to serve me more papers? To make a scene? To tell the producers I’m mentally unstable? My breathing turns shallow as he begins walking toward the center of the set, moving
"Again!" My voice cracks through the silence of the soundstage. I’m standing near the monitors, my arms crossed so tightly my muscles ache, but I don't care. I don't care about the collective groan of the crew or the way the lighting technicians are looking at their watches. Sydney is standing in
"My silk! My custom bias-cut silk! Sydney, what happened?!" "Lydia happened," I say, standing as still as a statue. "Can we save it? Or do I go out there and take the penalty?" Marta examines the stain, her face pale. Sarah walks over, peering at the way the coffee has dried in streaks across the
"I’m telling you, Sydney, the studio was in a flat-out panic for six months," Sarah says, dabbing a sponge near my jawline. She is the same makeup artist who handled my looks on the last film I did before the accident that left me blind temporarily—the one that never got finished. Seeing her in m







