Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
He’s looking at me.
A flicker of something foreign flickers in my chest, soft and uninvited.
I swallow thickly, ignoring it.
The car door opens, breaking the moment, and Frederic hesitates - just for a second.
"I don’t want to assume…”
I arch a brow, knowing exactly what he’s asking.
“I want to,” I say simply, my voice softer than I expect as his lips curve into a slow, satisfied grin. "Wherever home is for you tonight," I clarify.
His grin widens, a dark glint of victory flashing in his ocean-blue eyes.
“Home,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his fingers brushing along my wrist and nudging gently at my new bracelet. He takes my hand again, pulling me with him towards the open car door. “For now, it’s a hotel my team booked out for the week.”
He tugs me toward the sleek leather seats, guiding me inside without a second thought, and just like that, I’m going home with Frederic Moreau.
Heaven help me.
* * *
The car pulls away from the curb, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between us.
The city glides past, bright lights flickering against the glass as we weave through the streets of Monaco. The air inside the car is calm, comfortable, and charged all at once - that strange in-between where neither of us has spoken yet, but the tension is very much there.
I steal a glance at Frederic, who’s lazily reclined, his long legs sprawled slightly as he watches me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
The kind that makes me nervous.
The kind that makes me want to fill the silence with something. Anything.
“So,” I say, shifting slightly. “Do you always whisk unsuspecting women away to your fancy hotel at the end of a date?”
The words spill out of my mouth without thought, and I swear I could smack myself in the head for it.
Why the fuck did I just say that?!
“Would it make you feel special if I said no?” he smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, so you do this all the time?”
His lips twitch, as though he’s amused by my line of questioning.
"I wouldn’t say all the time," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. "But then again, I don’t usually meet women who accuse me of stalking and grand theft auto within minutes of knowing them."
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
I drop my hand and glare at him, but the effect is completely ruined by the way he’s looking at me - like he’s having the time of his life just messing with me.
“Besides, you’re the one who practically invited yourself into my car that day. Maybe you were the one stalking me.”
I scoff. “Oh, please.”
But before I can roll my eyes and let it go, he smirks and tilts his head slightly, watching me with something dangerously close to amusement.
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
His smirk deepens.
“Well, I mean, now that I think about it… First, it was my car… then my family home… then my yacht…” He pauses, pretending to think for a long beat. “Seems like quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
My stomach drops.
“…What?”
Frederic lets out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his effortlessly tousled hair.
“I’m just saying, if anyone was stalking someone, mon ange, it seems like it was you.”
I shake my head, laughing dryly.
“No. No, that was Jacques’ home, it was his party, it -”
Frederic laughs. Actually laughs.
“Oh, mon amour,” he says, delighted, his eyes glinting in the dim glow of the taxi. “You thought that was Jacques’ home?”
I blink at him, my brain struggling to catch up.
“…It wasn’t?”
He lets out another low chuckle. “How exactly do you think Jacques would afford a place like that? Monaco isn’t exactly known for its… affordability.”
I stare at him as the images of that night flash through my mind.
The house. The sprawling estate. The gold accents. The wealth oozing from every corner.
But Jacques had said…
Not wanting to give away just how confused I am, I shake my head and exhale sharply.
“Fine - maybe that was yours. But the yacht -”
Frederic lifts a brow. “Also mine.”
“No, it wasn’t. It belongs to a connection of Jacques’.”
He grins, looking thoroughly entertained.
“Yeah. Me.”
My head spins, and I slump back in my seat, stunned.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Jacques has been lying this whole time. To us.
To Leah.
He’s been passing off Frederic’s wealth as his own, acting like he had the kind of status to host parties in Monaco, when in reality, he was just another guest.
I want to scream. I want to text Leah immediately and demand she get the hell away from him.
But I can’t, because Frederic is sitting right beside me, his sharp blue eyes flickering over my face, studying me carefully. Assessing. Reading me like I’m a puzzle he’s on the verge of solving.
And I can’t afford to give anything away.