A YEAR'S CONTRACT : Mr billionaire's wedding
But then, just as I was about to give up, I heard the faintest sound from inside—a soft shuffling, like someone moving hesitantly.
“Anne, please,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “I just want to know you’re okay.”
The door creaked open, just a crack at first, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw her. Anne stood there, looking like a shadow of herself. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair disheveled, and she wore an old sweater that seemed too big for her frame. The grief and exhaustion etched into her face made her look so small, so fragile.
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