LOGINMarcus sat on the far right side of the dinning table. He kept his head completely down. His chin was practically resting against his collarbone. He just focused entirely on the intricate, stupid blue floral pattern painted onto his antique porcelain dinner plate.Because if he looked up, he was actually going to lose his mind.Diane was sitting directly across from him. Just five feet of polished wood and flickering candlelight separating them. She wasn't wearing a formal evening gown. She wasn't wearing a modest blouse. She wasn't wearing anything even remotely appropriate for a quiet family dinner with the patriarch of a global shipping empire.She was wearing a slip dress.It was silk. A dark, liquid crimson color that looked exactly like freshly oxygenated blood under the heavy crystal chandelier. And it was tight. So incredibly, offensively tight. The fabric looked like it was literally painted onto her skin, clinging violently to the swell of her hips and the heavy dip of her
The sun was just completely aggressive the next morning. It didn’t give a single damn if Marcus had spent the entire night tearing his own mind into tiny, bloody shreds. It just blasted right through the thin linen curtains of the guest room, bright and hot and completely unforgiving.Downstairs, the villa was already humming with that sickening, wealthy kind of noise. The board retreat had officially started. Marcus could hear the faint, awful clinking of silver spoons against expensive porcelain coffee cups out on the main breakfast patio. He could hear the low, confident murmurs of men who actually had control over their lives. The smell of dark roasted espresso and warm butter drifted up through the floorboards. It honestly made him want to throw up.He hadn’t slept. Not even for ten minutes.Every time he had closed his eyes, the heavy, suffocating darkness behind his eyelids just immediately filled with wet black lace. He just kept seeing the way the pool water slicked her dar
Sophia’s voice wouldn’t leave his head. Two weeks. We’re doing it now. The words just bounced around the empty chambers of his skull like loose coins, heavy and annoying and completely loud. A strategic marriage. A quick fix to get his signatures back. A shield to block the woman currently sleeping just two hallways down from him.It was all supposed to make perfect sense on paper. He was supposed to feel relieved, or maybe a little bit powerful, or at least like he had a plan. Instead, he just felt sick. The kind of deep, oily nausea that settles right into your bones after you realize you’ve sold the last piece of yourself to a machine that doesn't even care about your name.The main villa was completely suffocating tonight. Because of some stupid, drawn-out board retreat his father insisted on hosting for the weekend, Marcus had been forced to take his old bedroom on the second floor. He couldn't remember the last time he’d stayed here overnight. The air in the room felt thick,
The hotel room smelled of expensive travel leather, heavy London rain clinging to wool, and the sharp, clinical bite of Sophia’s signature perfume. It was a suffocatingly upscale suite tucked away in the hills above Cannes, the kind of place where the thick drapes were specifically designed to block out the Mediterranean sun, keeping the world permanently dim and quiet.Sophia didn’t look like someone who had just spent four hours trapped on a private flight. Her hair was pulled back into a flawless, severe twist. Her tailored traveling coat was neatly draped over the back of the sofa, entirely devoid of wrinkles. She looked like a woman who had everything under control.Until she looked at him.The moment Marcus stepped through the door, her eyes locked onto his wrinkled linen shirt. She tracked the faint, sticky bourbon stain near his cuff, then moved up to the raw, bloodshot look in his eyes.She stopped dead in the middle of the plush cream carpet. "You look like a corpse someo
He did not remember walking down the driveway. He just suddenly found himself gripping the cold steering wheel of his car. His knuckles were completely numb. The engine was roaring way too loud in the silent estate. He tore down the winding coastal roads blindly. He was going way too fast. The tires shrieked violently against the asphalt on every single tight hairpin turn. He didn't even try to tap the brakes. A sick part of him actually wanted the heavy car to just lose traction completely. He wanted it to launch right over the low stone retaining wall. A quick, brutal plunge into the freezing black Mediterranean water below seemed like a fantastic idea. It was certainly a hell of a lot better than going back to his empty, silent apartment to choke on his own disgusting thoughts.The image of that green satin robe was permanently burned into his retinas. He kept seeing the pale swell of her chest. He kept hearing that wet, heavy sound her voice made when she told him she was goi
He froze in his steps. The voice wasn't loud. It was soft. Almost casual. But it completely paralyzed him. He didn't want to turn around. He really didn't. His brain was screaming at him to just keep walking down the stairs and pretend he didn't hear anything. Just walk away and get in the car. But his body betrayed him. It always did when it came to her. He rotated slowly on the balls of his feet. The thick carpet felt like quicksand pulling him down.And then he saw her.The breath actually left his lungs in a sharp, pathetic wheeze. He almost choked on his own saliva. She was standing right there in the doorway. The warm golden light from the master bedroom was spilling out directly behind her. It framed her like some sort of cruel, untouchable painting in the dark hallway. Her hair was a complete mess. It was pulled up into this loose, scattered bun, with dark strands sticking to her damp neck and falling haphazardly across her collarbone. She looked completely wrecked. She l
The limestone walls of Villa Seraphina were still radiating the day’s heat, but inside, the air conditioning kept everything at a crisp, artificial cool. Diane stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master suite. She had already unpinned the Bourbon brooch. It sat on the vanity like
“Tonight would be perfect, “ Diane whispered to her reflectionThe air in the Sporting d'Été was thick with the scent of gardenias and desperation. It’s funny how much money you have to spend just to look like you care about people who have none. Diane stood at the top of the grand staircase, watc
The morning was going too smoothly. That should have been the first warning. Diane was sitting at the granite desk, the one that felt more like a throne every day, reviewing the latest acquisition charts. Then the shouting started. It was muffled at first, just a low rumble vibrating through the s
Diane decided not to have a lengthy honeymoon, of course she had people to put in their place. The glass door of her new office didn’t just open. It hissed. It was a soft, expensive sound that reminded Diane of everything she had traded to get here. The name on the frosted pane had changed. It di







