Too Late To Love Your Mute Wife

e stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse, staring down at the endless grid of city

l shock up her arm. It was another text

not secure an heir for Godfrey by then, you know exactly

lock of ice settled at the bottom of her stomach, making it hard to draw a full breath. She presse

eliberate, echoing ominously against the hardwood floor, vibrating

oom was shoved open with enough force

expensive whiskey rolled in with him. He did not look at her. He reached up, his large hands

into her tight lungs. She stepped awa

istance. She raised her hands, her fingers tr

age, she formed the words

gh that sounded like gravel grinding together. He turned his back

ber liquid. The ice cubes hit the bottom of the gla

r. Her hands moved again, faster this time. About

ead, his dark eyes locking onto her rapidly moving ha

arble counter. The liquid sloshed over t

ong strides. His massive frame backed her up

. The smell of alcohol mixed with his nat

ly low. "You are a mute, Aubree. You do not talk. You

but she locked her jaw and refused to look away. She raised

e signed, her movements re

right next to her ear. The impact shook the plaster a

ng wildly. "You mean the trap you set three years ago

her hands to sign that it was an accident, that she w

ound her delicate bones, squeezing hard enough to cut of

pure disgust. "And you used your body to get it. You drugged me, you

g her burned his skin. He turned aroun

he small mini-fridge near the bar and pulled out a glass bottle. It was a d

im just as he reached for the handle. She held the c

expression was pure ice. He snatched the bottle from her hands, un

empty bottle o

n her face. The loud bang echoed in the silent bedroom,