Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“All I heard was that you missed me,” she cooed, spreading her limbs on my bed lazily.
“You need to get your ears checked.”
“You need to get your heart healed.”
“I like it just the way it is.” I opened the door to my bedroom, signaling the end of our conversation. “Covered in ice and beating only for one purpose—my revenge.”
I stepped past the threshold. And what did you know? Abby waited outside. In fact, she had eavesdropped, falling to my feet in a heap of limbs.
She righted herself in a bout of panic and embarrassment, still wearing Dallas’s pink chiffon dress.
“Um, hi, Rom. It’s been a while.”
“That’s because I actively avoid you.”
Abby pouted, glaring at me through false eyelashes. “I’m here to collect my dress.”
“Did you think it was going to pour into your ear through my bedroom door?”
She blushed, huffed, and parked a hand on her waist. “Am I getting my dress back or not?”
“Not before you give me my wife’s dress back.”
Said wife remained behind my shoulder, tucked in my bed beneath my covers, cringing at the way I handled the entire situation.
Served her right. I refused to touch the fact that I had a woman in my bed for the first time since Morgan with a ten-foot pole. Too much to unpack.
With a growl, Abby began stripping from the pink number. She hadn’t worn a bra, thus her tits now dangled dangerously close to my chest.
I resisted the urge to vomit on them.
“There.” She flung her arms sideways. The dress pooled around her well-heeled ankles. “Happy now?”
“Not in the slightest. Wait here.” I turned, retrieved the two pieces of ruined dress from the floor by my window, and hurled them her way. “Send my regards to Licht.”
She shrieked. “Wait, the dress is torn.”
“So quick-witted.”
Abby stomped. “You bastard.”
I slammed the door in her face.
Romeo moved his things back the same day of my party.
Right after he kicked everyone out and called his bi-weekly cleaning service to “bleach the entire house, walls and ceiling included.”
I spied from my bedroom window as an army of people on his payroll wheeled his suitcases back inside. I hugged my arms, thinking about what had happened between us just hours ago.
When Romeo came in my mouth, I’d saved some of his semen under my tongue. I read somewhere that sperm could still survive in the mouth, provided it remained in its gel-like form.
It did.
When I dashed into my room to spit it into a mouthwash cup, I figured I could try to get pregnant.
But leaning against my sink, observing the white thing swimming in the small cup, something prevented me from doing it.
My morals, maybe.
I still had them, though my husband had lost his somewhere along the way.
It was sperm-stealing.
It was wrong.
And I, unfortunately, had boundaries I refused to cross.
Sure, I had no obligation to take the ethical highway. Not after everything Romeo had put me through. He’d deceived me in so many ways, so it was only fair I deceived him back.
Still, my pride wouldn’t let me conceive this way.
With spat-out semen. In a bathroom. Like a thief.
No. Romeo’s downfall would be of his own making.
I intended to break him.
The cracks were already apparent, imprinted everywhere on his behavior.
He wanted me. I knew he did.
Even if it was the last thing he needed.
As I watched my beautiful, awful husband weave through the garden, stone-faced, his phone pressed to his ear, undoubtedly discussing something work-related, I wondered what bringing him to full submission would feel like.
I was certainly going to find out.
Romeo Costa
Cara couriered a dress to the house.
Be ready at eight p.m. Sharp.
Dallas Costa
Sorry, I have plans.
Romeo Costa
Inhaling pho in front of Dead to Me isn’t considered plans.
Dallas Costa
Okay, in that case—sorry. I don’t want to.
Romeo Costa
It’s for a charity gala.
Dallas Costa
The most charitable thing you can do is send the check and not be there in person to ruin everyone’s fun.
Romeo Costa
Be ready at eight.
Shortbread ignored my text.
That she’d texted me at all after the incident three days ago was nothing short of a miracle.
The read receipt glared at me, ten minutes into my meeting with a Pentagon contact.
Unfortunately, Bruce occupied the seat beside me. And also unfortunate was the fact that he was infuriatingly, incomparably phenomenal at his job.
In truth, Bruce’s only shortcoming was his function as Senior’s pet. When it came to business, he deserved his imposing reputation. Walkman, who worked directly under the Deputy Secretary of Defense, latched on to each of his words, promising to sway his boss in our favor.
An hour and a half later, I checked my texts in the elevator to the parking garage. Still no reply. It was obvious Shortbread had no intention of attending the gala.
As it was, she had no choice.
My father would be there, which meant Costa Industries’ entire board would be there.