I AM YOURS TO PLAY
Sarah stood there, her black dress clinging to her curves, her blonde hair loose, her eyes sharp with that calculating glint I’d come to dread.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice syrupy, fake. “You’re up. Good.” She held a folder, her manicured nails tapping the edge, a smile playing on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes.
“What do you want, Sarah?” I asked, my voice flat, my casted arm aching as I shifted on the couch.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and tossed the folder onto the table, papers spilling out. “I need your signature,” she said, her tone light, but her eyes hard. “It’s for our baby, you know.”
Bab Populer