His Broken Vow
Sandra smirked and whispered, “There. Your chance just walked toward you.”
Claire—Bella’s wolf—thumped eagerly inside her chest.
Dave didn’t look at Sandra once. His focus was entirely—viscerally—Bella.
“Come.” His words were quiet, but they pulled her like gravity itself.
He laced his fingers through hers—gentle—but with an undertone of steel. A claim disguised as courtesy. Bella shot Sandra one last helpless look, and Sandra only winked.
Moments later, Bella sat inside the sleek interior of a black Aston Martin Valkyrie, the leather cool beneath her palms. Dave slid behind the wheel, hands steady on the controls, power humming through the engine like a beast waiting to run.
Bab Populer