/1/106617/coverbig.jpg?v=b9cabef4f35b2aae24d23a31fe0f05ea)
ey. His head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache behind his temples, but his senses were screaming. The air smelled of expensive lavender de
the frame was good-broad shoulders, long limbs-just soft and unused. The muscle memory of a thousand fi
is skull. Chris Olson. The failure. The husband who
he silk pillowcase. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, a permanent etching of dissatis
sed, soft. He clenched them into fists, watch
old as a winter sky. She saw him sitting there, starin
. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, expecting the usual routine:
link. He looked at her not as a wife, but as a target asses
was deeper than she remembered, strip
lt a sudden, inexplicable shiver crawl up her spine. The w
silk robe. She tied the belt tight, armor against a man she no longer respecte
t, dry sound. It mig
cover himself as he usually did. He stretched, his back arching, the
igarettes there-hers. He shook one out and lit it. The
the statement hanging in the air li
g bright orange. He exhaled a stream of g
dn't look at her. He didn't ask if she was okay
feeling a sudden, sharp pang of displacement. It was her r
her voice rising. "Did
bathroom door. He
" he said. "Stop screami
r click
as hammering against her ribs, a frantic, confused rhythm. She had expec
. Dark circles under the eyes. A weak jawline he would have to
to the reflection. "Rest e
ter on his face. He dried off, wrapped a t
h of the room, her arms crosse
to regain the upper hand. "Is this some new t
h force to make her stumble back a step. It wasn't violent,
walking into the hallway
followed, her footsteps quick and uneven,
and lemon polish. The stack of documents
fountain pen. The metal
he entered the room. "The settlement is gene
e last page. He signed Chris Olson with a jagge
the desk. It rolled and hit the stack
," he
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