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I stride out of my office, jaw locked tight, blood pounding in my ears. Eight years. Eight fucking years I trusted her. Gave her access to everything—my operations, my home, my plans. And the whole time, she was playing me. From the very first day. I should have known better. Never trust a woman. My mother

I glide my hands down the front of my dress for approximately the billionth time as Camille pulls into the Mass General parking garage. The navy sheath dress she forced on me looks good, but I can’t stop adjusting it. “You look great,” Camille scolds when she sees me fidgeting. “Stop with the fussing.” “I’m

The manor feels different when we return. Or maybe it’s just me who’s different. Stefan’s hand rests on the small of my back as we walk through the front door. He’s stayed within arm’s reach of me since he dragged me out of the water. In all honesty, I don’t mind one bit. “You should

The first raindrop hits my shoulder as I hold Olivia against me. Then another. Then a dozen more, cold and sudden. “We should get inside,” I say. But I don’t move. Neither does she. The rain comes harder, soaking through what little clothing we’re still wearing. Her bra is translucent white. Olivia tilts her face

I pick up the phone Stefan gave me and retreat to the deck, as far from the cabin as I can get without actually jumping into the ocean. Which, honestly, I’m considering. The sun’s higher now, warm on my face. I sit on one of the padded benches and stare at the box in my

Love. Is that what this is? I watch Stefan’s face, waiting for him to answer my question. But he just looks at me with those impossible eyes and says nothing. I set down the croissant. “I need to ask you something.” “Go ahead.” “Your father. What was their marriage like? His and your mother’s?” Stefan’s

My life may have changed, but the forces that shaped me are still alive and well. And those forces demand that I wake up before the sun. So I’m opening my eyes, though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. But for once, it’s not danger that pulled me from sleep. Well, not just the danger.

The yacht’s cabin is warmer than the ocean, but I’m still shivering. My hair is wet and splayed out across the pillow, but it’s Stefan’s touch on my bare hip that’s making me feel like temperature no longer has any meaning. “You’re cold,” Stefan says, reaching for another blanket from the built-in cabinet. “I’m fine.”

The Antonia’s deck burns bright. Really bright. Too bright? It’s the sort of bright that you just can’t quite trust. A devil’s brightness, a Hollywood producer’s brightness. Picture-perfect orchids and candlelight licking at the teak flooring and the most perfect hint of a breeze, calibrated so the flames flicker and the flowers bob and all of