Mag-log inHe hasn't moved a single millimeter in over seventeen hours. A cold sweat breaks out across the back of my neck. Even if he had engine trouble, he would have called a private flatbed. He wouldn't just sit on a dark, isolated highway shoulder all night without sending a single text. I'm going to ch
It is past eight in the morning, I have a company to run today, and my body is running on zero percent fuel. But as I step through the swinging doors into the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks. There is no scent of bacon, no freshly brewed coffee, and zero activity. Instead, three of the housemaids
The look on his face. That smug, infuriating, triumphant look Owen wore when he clicked the folder shut. My lawyer—that pompous, overpaid little weasel—had warned me. He had told me that Owen doesn't have the will because he has it, and it was a ploy to get me to confess. And what did I do? I di
"And finally," I nod at her. "To Georgia Newton, the widow of my son, I leave a one-time settlement of ten thousand dollars to cover immediate relocation expenses from the property." Georgia gasps, her mask of innocence shattering into a million pieces. She stands up, taking a menacing step toward
"It's about time," Caroline snarls, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and tapping her heel against the floor. "We have been sitting in this stuffy room for forty-five minutes. Better get on with it." I don't even look up from the leather binder resting on my lap. I slowly turn a crisp, blank
She’s wearing a silk robe, a laptop is balanced on her knees loudly streaming a reality television show, and scattered all over my crisp white duvet are open bags of greasy potato chips, chocolate wrappers, and half-eaten cookies. I have a lot of boundaries, but my number-one, non-negotiable mental
Ding! The sound of the café bell has me looking up, and when I spot the man that walks through the doors, I stand up immediately. Nicholas Chase was my senior back in school, and one of my good supporters back when my acting career took a negative hit that forced me into a hiatus. His black hair
"What?" "I want a divorce," I repeat. Deckard remains frozen, staring at me as if I’ve suddenly started speaking a foreign language. His eyes search my face, looking for the crack, the moment where I’ll break into a sob and tell him I didn't mean it. Then, he chuckles. "Oh, don't be dramatic, no
Divorce. That's the only way forward, isn't it? I'm still standing and staring mute at the photo album in my hands. It doesn't make sense. Deckard? Georgia? How...? When? But even as I turn it over in my mind, I know deep down that it all makes sense. Yes, Deckard cared for me, but can I confide
Today makes it three years since I got married to Deckard Newton, and I have only one goal in mind. Seduce him till he can't resist me. You see, in our years of marriage, Deckard and I have never been intimate. It’s not like he doesn’t want me. I mean, I’ve caught him jerking off to my pictures on







