The Disguised Heiress And Her Obsessive Tycoon

d on the table, a glaring symbo

of the dining room. Diners had abandoned th

idn't gloat. She spoke with the chilling, mecha

echoing clearly, "you have two choices. Choice one: I hand this footage over

ands trembling viole

social media accounts right now. You post a public apology admitting to

hing for his phone. "I'll do

ished," Anab

fr

ten thousand dollars to the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank,"

as a massive hit. But he looked at the camera lens, the

gers, Gus opened

waited until the confirmation number appeared. She watched

ered, his spirit

f her jeans-the thirteen dollars still sat there, untouched from

ornia sun hit her face. She looked directly into the came

by a wall-to-wall screen showing a dedicated camera feed of Anabelle's face. The broadcast had just shattered the five

spoke charcoal suit. His left hand rested on his knee, his th

at the camera, Glen

of the monitor casting sharp shadows across his jawline. His eyes traced the muddy canvas shoes, the frayed flannel shirt, and the cold, calculating intelligenc

voice was thick, a dangerous mix of deep affection and absolute, posse

Glenn knew exactly who she was. He knew the silk sheets she used to sleep on. He knew

d black phone from the coffee table. He dialed

er answered, his voice

, his voice cold and authoritative. "I'm c

hirteen dollars into her pocket. Her stomach growled, but her mind was

he sky above her