Bleeding Hearts Read online A. Zavarelli (Bleeding Hearts #1-2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Bleeding Hearts Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
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I walked down to the office nestled into the back of the first floor. The door swung open on the first try. I stared at the oak monstrosity before me, noting how neat and orderly everything appeared. Just like his office at work.

It was one of the things I loved about the man. The painful realization I might not be able to handle his secrets socked me in the gut, stealing some of my resolve. For a moment, I told myself I didn’t have to do this. That I could walk back out of this house and pretend everything was okay. That’s what Norma-Jean always did. But look at how it worked out for her.

I liked to think I was stronger than her. But there was only one surefire way to find out.

I dug through drawers and cabinets, boxes and envelopes. I didn’t care about the mess anymore, and I didn’t bother putting anything back. The only thing I cared about was the key.

My fingers slipped over cool metal, and I held my breath as I pulled it from the back of the drawer, obscured beneath a mountain of paperwork.

When I held it up to the light, my chest constricted at the sight of the skeleton key. This was it. It had to be.

After barreling back up to the third floor, I forced it into the first lock impatiently. I closed my eyes and turned, my palm sweating against the knob as the weight of the lock released.

I pushed against the wood and held my breath, stepping into another bedroom. A master bedroom, even larger than Rylands. It held two walk-in closets and a bathroom off to the side. I glanced around in confusion as I wondered whose it could be.

The bed had been made, and a woman’s nightgown hung from one of the bedposts. The room was clean and orderly, except for the thick layer of dust that covered every surface. An abandoned teacup and saucer sat on the nightstand, along with a book splayed open to the last page. At one point, someone else had lived in this room. Someone other than Ryland.

I backed out the door, deciding there were no answers in here. There was something in that last room, though. The one I’d seen Ryland in. But along the way I paused at another room, too tempting to pass.

I set the lock free and opened the door, discovering what was undoubtedly a little girl’s room. Pink frills and lace covered every inch of the four poster bed, and photos of a tiny ballet dancer adorned the walls. My stomach heaved at the sight of it. On some level, I already knew who it belonged to, but I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t want to accept the awful possibility, so I slammed the door and edged away.

My shaky legs carried me to the last and final room. And when the door opened, I reached for the first thing I could. The picture frame.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. I had to be hallucinating. But another glance at the face in the photo confirmed I wasn’t.

The woman in the photo was younger, but it was definitely Nicole. She stood beside a young man with his arm wrapped around her. A young man I recognized but didn’t want to. He shared the same eyes as Ryland. The same shocking blue that had crippled my heart. Only his hair was blonde and not dark. And his face was light and carefree. Happy.

My mouth burned from the sour taste rising up my throat, and the frame clattered unceremoniously onto the dresser.

My brain fired off a thousand different responses, but my legs moved me towards the box still sitting on the floor where Ryland left it. Answers. I needed more answers.

In my haste, I tore open the lid, completely unprepared for what I was about to find. I dumped the contents onto the floor and sifted through them. But once I got a glimpse, I wished I hadn’t.

Article after article of the Lockhart family murder. Three ghostly faces of Jackson, Sophia, and Katherine stared back at me. And suddenly, it all fell into place. A teenage boy, a little girl, and their mother. Three of the people that Brayden was convicted of killing.

It wasn’t any less painful to read the articles now, five years after the fact. The stories about the family outing that turned deadly when a drunk driver hit them and left them for dead down the side of an embankment. But the coroner’s examination confirmed that wasn’t the case. The only two passengers who died instantly were Katherine and Jackson. Between the time of the accident, and the time the ambulance arrived two hours later, the little girl had also succumbed to her injuries.


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