SLAVE TO YOUR LOVE
Andrey had cautioned her, and the look she’d turned on him then should’ve flayed him alive.
Perhaps it had.
“You won’t like the result, trust me.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Romanoff,” she’d said, his name a low, dark curse, hitting him in ways he didn’t fully understand. “When I decide to sabotage you, there will be nothing in the least bit passive about it.”
She’d stalked away from him that afternoon, and he hadn’t seen her again until the following morning, when she’d presented herself in his suite at breakfast, dressed in the perfectly unremarkable sort of professional clothes she usually wore.
Bab Populer