His Unwanted Wife Is Madame Lan

rom the downstairs foyer sounded like

t a rush of cold adrenaline straight to her fingertips. Two a.m. She lay frozen in the pitch-black master bedr

out, her fingers stiff, and grabbed her phone off the nights

he icy irritation in his voice thick enough to choke on.

urned the back of her throat. Him. Gregory Morse. The man wh

one turning to absolute ice out of pure terror. "I hear them on

ripping with disgust. "Genevra never resorted to such cheap, attention-s

ry, I

ent dead.

walked to the walk-in closet, bypassing the rows of designer clothes he had forced her to wear to mimic his d

ing far more vital for her survival: a heavy encrypte

ack trench coat over a high-necked sweater, buttoned to the top. It was her armor. She kept her head down, bypassi

. The sharp branches tore at her clothes, eac

le coffee and grease hit her like a physical blow. The linoleum floor was littered

arely covered her shivering frame. She was holding her phone up, ad

into the receiver, her eyes glassy. "Yes, I'm safe

in her chest. Gregory didn't care if she lived or died. To him, she was just a chea

n, ended the call, and dropped the phone

out the encrypted hard drive, and stared

gory?" Andrea said, her voice dangerously

her face, replaced by a sickly, chalky wh

face. It wasn't displaying PR analytics or stock trends.

o track the launch schedule for her new fashion line. The e

ee agonizing seconds. Her

n the screen. WELCO

ooked down at the Cartier ring on her finger. The diamond

Morse family at the Hamptons estate.