Bolto

thought of food. "I don't want a croissant, Chase. I

t Clementina, who gave him a subtle nod. Indiana, meanwhile, dabbed

se said, his voice low, a warning. "In p

me, announce her child is the family heir, and then tell me not to make a scene?" I finally stood up, pushi

lidified. "I can't pretend everything is fine. I can't

going?" Chase demande

ding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I expected him to follow, to stop me, to at least try to explain. H

xpensive artwork, every designer furniture piece, felt like a monument to his betrayal. How could I have been so blind? So desperate f

sn't sure where I was going, but I knew I couldn't stay. My hands trembled as I folded a sweater, a

d there, leaning against the doorframe, looking al