The Imposter in my bed
Inviting his mistress to our home is an intentional, nasty insult to Tara's memory.
It's Lea rubbing her victory in the faces of anyone who actually knew the real Mrs. Jackson.
"Don't cause a scene, Alexander," Lea murmurs, feeling the tension giving off my body.
I ignore her, my eyes drifting across the room.
Tara is standing near the hallway arch, holding a silver tray of appetizers.
She is out of that horrible, shapeless sack, wearing the crisp black-and-white uniform designated for events. Her hair is pulled back, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
Bab Populer