You Don't Own Me, Mr Billionaire
ISAAC
Katya thinks she's so clever.
She wore black down the aisle, convinced it would rattle me, invite gasps, sidelong glances, maybe even a muttered curse. It works, though not for the reason she expects. The instant I caught sight of her, lips painted blood-red, eyes blazing, that sinful dress skimming her perfectly shaped body, I know I could stare at her forever.
She's absolutely breathtaking, and more than that, she's mine. In a few minutes she'll belong to me for the rest of our lives. I plan to see her in and, better yet, outof a thousand scandalous dresses.