Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
And fury from a man like him, or in this case, a man like my uncle, wouldn’t end in lectures.
It would end in a funeral.
Mine.
I lean back, feigning ease, making sarcasm do the work guilt tries to do. “Anything else?”
“I’m proud of you too,” he says evenly.
I nod once, the motion tight.
Meeting done. Orders given. I walk out feeling like a liar, but at least I walk out...
On the drive back, the image of Victoria’s door won’t leave me.
She’s asleep.
My stomach twists.
I’m a scumbag.
Why? Because I’m lying to the one man whose approval I still crave, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m hiding a marriage and have forced a woman into my life.
When I get back to my property, I don’t go inside right away. I stand on the front steps, breathing in the air.
Then I look at the security feed again because apparently, I’m obsessed. Still closed. Good. I drag a hand over my face.
I’m pathetic.
41
Victoria
I know he’s home before anyone says a word.
The door to my room is closed, but even tucked away, I can hear the voices from down below.
For as large a house as this is, it’s odd how voices travel.
Right now, I can clearly hear footsteps from downstairs.
Next is a car door slamming.
My nervous system fires into overdrive because I know it’s him.
I move to my door and place my ear against the wood. I can hear the low murmur of male voices in the foyer.
Slowly, I open my door. Not dramatically. A small crack, just enough to try to hear.
Unfortunately, my plan sucks, and I can’t hear anything.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of my room and on the second-floor landing.
I grip the banister, pulse jumping like I’m about to have a heart attack.
You are not going to hide on the stairwell like some pathetic woman. You are his wife, not his prisoner.
Actually, you’re both.
And you’re also his secret wife, let’s not forget that.
I roll my shoulders back, exhale once, and start down the staircase. Lorenzo steps into the foyer as I reach the bottom.
He looks exhausted, wrecked. He also happens to look devastatingly handsome and deadly. His dark shirt is rumpled, and the sleeves are shoved up. His gorgeous tattoos are on full display.
A part of me wants to ask him to remove his shirt so I can see just how far they go, but I bite back that desire. Nothing good will come from lusting after my asshole of a husband.
My gaze drops down, and I see his knuckles are scraped.
There’s also a faint smear of something red on his collar.
Dirt.
I’m sure it’s just dirt.
Red dirt . . .
Sure.
I don’t know any idiot who would believe that.
With a shake of my head, I lift my gaze. Lorenzo’s hair is a mess. It looks like he’s raked his fingers through it in an angry rage.
I need to pull my gaze away because looking at him does crazy things to my belly.
Two guards hover near the doorway, speaking in low voices. The moment they see me, their words die in their throats.
Cowards.
Lorenzo’s gaze finds me. It drags over me slowly, from the bare soles of my feet, up my leggings, to the oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.
His mouth curves. “Look at this,” he drawls, dropping his keys into a dish on the console. “My dear wife coming down to greet me.”
“You should’ve stayed gone,” I shoot back, stepping off the last stair. “Maybe the world would be a better place.”
His eyes glitter, amused. “Missing me already?”
“Yes, like I miss food poisoning.” I plant myself at the edge of the foyer. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” His voice stays lazy, but the tension in his shoulders tells a different story. He shrugs out of his jacket with the smoothness of a man who knows exactly how he looks when he moves. “I had such a nice drive imagining silence when I got home.”
“You blocked every phone,” I snap, ignoring the bait. “Your men won’t let me outside. I can’t step onto the grass without two human brick walls materializing out of nowhere like I’m a criminal. You cut me off from everyone.”
He drapes the jacket over the stair rail. “You make it sound dramatic.”
“It is dramatic,” I fire back, stepping closer. “You’ve turned my life into a hostage situation.”
His nostrils flare like my choice of words amuses him. “Your life’s been a hostage situation since you were born into that family. I just . . . relocated the leverage.”
“I’m what now?” I demand. “A pet you keep on a leash. A trophy you hide in a box?”
“Trophies get displayed.” He looks me up and down. “You’re on lockdown.”
“Why?” My voice rises despite myself. “Who am I going to run to? You’ve destroyed everything.”
“Exactly,” he replies as calmly as a man discussing the weather. “Which makes containment efficient.”