/1/107841/coverbig.jpg?v=e5bbff948358e90da3b522209e5a1995)
. Her lungs burned with every shallow inhale, the recycled, perfume-choked air turning to glass shards in her chest. She
n
her was louder than a gunshot in the orches
ade to keep from collapsing. She turned her head, her neck
r from across the ballroom. A rival m
gh the crowd, felt more in the soles
fl
stion, overrode the years of training that demanded she stand and smile. Sh
rom the side. A hea
ng the skin of her forearm. She flailed, her hand closing around nothia thousand silent moments of
ssive. He simply opened the door beh
edge of the Sargent estate, but in its very heart
reduced to a sing
m. It was Adrien's private study, a place she was never allowed to
opter, but a man descending the spir
n Sar
o tailored to his frame like a second s
tunneled. The last thing she saw before the darkness took her completely was the gleam of his polished Oxford
ifferent here.
resistance. Leather straps bound her wrists to thimmediate, fl
ice said. Not a r
exactly like his photos, only more terrifying. He was wearing a charcoal suit that
ed up a clipboard from the end
devoid of humanity. "Any beneficiary deemed mentally or emotionally unstable forfeits
rasped. Her throat felt like sand
ere a startling shade of grey, like storm clouds. "Clarice
y," she said, pulling at the restraints
arice. Your public breakdow
afening in the quiet room. He walked over to her, his fingers
the real asset behind your foster father's last three acqu
nto his jacket, pulling out a folde
ad
ex. Messy. As she scanned the legal jargon, her breath
m. "This is impossible to fight
on the chair's arms, trapping her. "Sign over your
ret he was guarding. "You're leveraging my shar
l," he
ankrupt thousands
etter get u
. "I won't be
ife. It showed an old, kind-faced man in a nursing home. Alfred. The butler who had raised her. A hand
ed, thrashing ag
ached curiosity of a scientist observing a lab rat. "Sign the proxy, o
GOOGLE PLAY