All Chapters of The Imposter in my bed : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The Cracks in the Glass~Lea's POV~I keep my breathing perfectly even, my eyes slitted just enough to see through the darkness of the master bedroom.The door clicks shut.It is nearly four in the morning. Alexander doesn't turn on the lamps. He doesn't take off his clothes. He walks slowly to the edge of the mattress, the moonlight slicing across his broad shoulders, and he collapses onto the edge of the bed.He drops his head into his hands. His fingers dig into his hair, gripping the roots so hard his knuckles turn white. A shuddering, ragged exhale rips through his chest.I lie perfectly still under the sheets, but my heart kicks into a violent, panicked beat.I have lived with this man for three years. I have seen him angry. I have seen him cold, indifferent, and ruthlessly corporate. I have never seen him look like this.He looks completely unguarded. Raw. He looks utterly devastated, like a man who just watched his entire world burn to ash and is entirely powerless to stop i

The Dead Weight~Tara's POV~"Drop it now, Eva," I whisper, wiping down the marble island.Through the massive kitchen windows, I see the white catering van idling in the driveway. The side panel reads Elite Event Rentals.Victor is leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his shirt vest, his eyes tracking my every movement. I haven't been out of his sight for three days. He is sweating, shifting his weight constantly, his eyes darting to every shadow. The psychological warfare is working...he is completely unraveling....but it makes him dangerous. Like a cornered rabid dog."Oops," Eva says loudly.She trips over the edge of the floor mat. The huge silver tray in her hands, loaded with thirty crystal champagne flutes, hits the tile floor.The crash is deafening. Glass shatters like a bomb going off, spraying across the kitchen."Are you kidding me?!" Alice screams, rushing in from the hallway. "Do you know how much those cost, you stupid girl?"Victor f

The Caged Dog~Tara's POV~Clack.The deadbolt engages on the inside of the bridal suite door."Drop it," James growls from the shadows of the walk-in closet, cocking the hammer of his matte-black Glock. "Or I blow your brains all over this expensive wallpaper."Victor freezes. The color drains completely out of his face as he realizes the keypad on the door is dead. He is trapped.Slowly, deliberately, Victor lowers his arm. His handgun hits the plush carpet with a dull thud. James steps out of the closet, keeping his weapon dropped dead-center at Victor's chest, and kicks Victor's gun underneath the sofa.But Victor doesn't panic.He is a cornered animal, but he is a professional. The shock fades from his face, replaced by a cold, adding up smirk."You think you're smart, playing games with digital locks?" Victor sneers, his eyes darting between me and James. "You think you have the upper hand because you brought a stray dog with a gun into the house?""I'd say the gun gives us a

The Confession~Tara's POV~"The last time anyone saw Victor," Alice says, her eyes narrowing into cold, deadly slits, "he was walking right behind you."I look down at the crystal glass in the sink, forcing my hands to tremble just a bit. I let my shoulders slump, dropping perfectly back into the role of the broken, foggy maid."He... he was," I stammer, my voice hesitating with fake fear. "He followed me into the hallway. He yelled at me for walking too slowly. He said I was in the way of the photographers.""And then?" Alice snaps, stepping closer."And then he told me to get out of his sight," I whisper, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes. "He walked toward the service exit. I swear, Alice. I came straight back here. Did... did I do something wrong?"Alice stares at me, searching my face for a lie. But my disguise is flawless. I am a masterclass in submission."Useless," Alice mutters, rolling her eyes in disgust. She turns away, pulling a small radio from her belt. "Peri

Daniel's Patience~Daniel's POV~I have been in love with Tara Smith since we were fifteen years old.It is a pathetic, tolerating truth. When my family moved away sophomore year, I tried to forget her. I went to college. I dated other women. I built a private investigation firm from the ground up and convinced myself that the bright, smiling girl with the hazel eyes was just a childhood crush. A ghost from a simpler time.Then, she called my office from a payphone, and my heart literally stopped beating.She was alive. She had been suffering in ways I couldn't even stomach, and she needed my help.I told myself I would just be a professional. I would hack the accounts, trace the money, and be the shield she needed to survive. I promised myself I would keep my feelings completely separate.But watching her now—brilliant, fierce, and completely consumed by a cold, reasoning need for revenge—I am hopelessly lost all over again.The problem is, she doesn't see me. Not really. She