“But what do you think she’d feel,” he went on quietly, “knowing you took her place?”
My spine tingled.
I had seen glimpses of this man before—brief flashes of something cold, controlled, and lethal. Even as a teenager, returning home on term breaks, I’d known there was something coiled behind his restraint.
Had I dreamed about him?
Maybe—once or twice.
When I was young enough to still believe fantasy meant something.
But the fantasies never survived my mother.
All those years she’d sneered at my dark hair and darker eyes. Picked me apart like I was defective. Sometimes I’d think—if I looked more European, less like him, maybe she would’ve loved me.
Then I grew up.
She was never going to love me—only what I could be used for.
And now?
She was about to lose her prize pig. Her retirement plan.
Her glossy, coveted husband—to me.
His hand tightened over mine, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
He could break me.
No—I was already broken.
I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. Then nodded.
His smile was slow to bloom, but when it spread, I caught something unexpected beneath the stubble. A dimple.
He lifted my hand to his lips.
“You won’t regret our alliance,” he murmured.
The kiss wasn’t romantic. It was transactional.
The seal on a dangerous deal with the devil.
He released my hand with a smirk.
“You’ll need a new wardrobe. Accessories. We want it to cut her deep,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
He flipped open his leather wallet and pulled out a black card, holding it between two fingers.
“There’s no limit.”
“I doubt I’ll bankrupt you,” I drawled. “The dress I wore last night cost me thirteen quid.”
Still, I took the card and placed it on the table between us.
He frowned.
“Ask Connie. She’ll connect you to a personal shopper.”
