The Cold Heiress And Her Billionaire Patient

tate. It stopped well short of the winding driveway, where a fleet of polished European imports gleamed under

ed open. Scarlett S

ack canvas duffel slung over one shoulder. Handing a few crumpled

he murmured, her voi

worn sneakers crunched against the imported gravel as she approac

efore she could reach for the brass handle. His face was a masterclass in profess

" he breathed,

staircase stood her mother, Catherine Sinclair. Wrapped in pristine white silk, her perfec

ine's voice sliced through the stillness like a sca

ft floral dress. "Mom, please don't say that," Ashley cooed, her voice a saccharine melody. Bu

ing cheap hotel furniture. She didn't blink. She didn't frown. She simply loo

. It stripped Catherine of her aud

g sharply off the marble. "Where have you been for t

m, breathe. Scarlett must have had her reasons for ru

he picture of grace. Always protecting this family. And t

air. She turned her head slowly. Her eyes,

lett said, her tone so devoid of emotion it made th

physical blow. Catherine's rage suddenly had no

tay in your room. You will watch Ashley and learn how

corner of Scarlett's mouth. It

Ashley's mask of sweet concern. A flash of raw, ugly hat

pened her mouth to shriek, but a heavy, autho

enough, C

cane. His eyes, sharp as flint, pinned his daughter-in-law with absolute disgus

g in front of Scarlett. A heavy, warm hand

elt in hours. The rigid line of Scar

what she-" Catherine st

AC

ne against the marble. The sound wa

ched, her jaw

without another glance at the women seething in the f

s washing over her. This wasn't the volatile, easily triggere

ng slits. The old Scarlett was a pawn

she was a stray dog crawling back for shelter. They were dead wrong. She was