elyn

e loud hum of the exhaust fan f

It was a heavy, custom-made sterling silver cufflink. The number "19" was

Boston knew my legal first name

es out of my mind, I dropped the cufflink into

ith Krystle in that VIP room, I hailed a cab and rushed straight back

nt villa, I headed straight fo

Row after row of Derik's custom Tom Ford suits, limited-edition sneakers, and d

uly belonged to me: a few sets of worn-out hospital scrubs, s

to this tiny corner of his life, thinking my

re four years of existence into a single battere

st friend, Araceli Church, a top-tier sports PR di

widened in shock. "Grace... are you planning to give

he heavy box into her trunk. "

shed my boundaries, I would only say I needed time t

bed my hands. "I fully support you! You can crash at my place for as

ik

y alarm clock woke me up. My head throb

the walk-in closet. My eyes immediately fell on the first ra

ote with Gracelyn's neat handwriting, detailing whic

had managed my wardrobe flawlessly. Whenever I traveled for away games,

rack, a smug smile tugging

e perfect candidate for a wife. I could fool around with exciting, willing women lik

d no backbone. Even though she threw a tantrum and stormed out last night, I knew she wou

suit and walk

dy," Martha, the housekeeper, sai

the empty dining tab

breakfast every single morning unless she was on a night shift

y on her apron. "Miss Gracelyn came back la

nstantly

" I sneered, feeling a s

survive in Boston without my family's wealth? She was

glancing at my million-do

exactly

exactly twelve hours. If she doesn't text me begging to come back by 8:30 PM tonig