The honeymoon suite was shut off.Not from the excess, however, anything in the room seemed to scream it—the silk-draped four-poster bed, the chandelier hanging like an icy raincloud overhead, the champagne chilling in a silver bucket. No, it was the stillness. The kind that envelops your lungs and constricts.Iris leaned over the bedside, her wedding corset pushing into the curve of her ribs, reminding her that this evening was never meant to be an evening of love.Marx had stepped into the marble bathroom a mere second before, phone pressed to his ear, his voice lowered to a cold, killer edge. Russian, maybe. Or German. She hadn't a clue to either, but that was the way it was supposed to be. The tone of his voice professional. Cold. Flipped.Whatever it was he was saying to her, it was no sweetheart whisper to a one-week bride.Her hand trembled slightly as she slid the burner phone from the hidden slit in her garter. The message still glowed back at her. A single line that turned h
Last Updated : 2025-06-04 Read more