The Almighty Tycoon Returns For Her

pped her

She dug her fingernails into the leather edge of the sofa, trying

en rigidity. She leaned ov

? Do you need

point to the second floor. She bit her

shaking. "Just swallowed the c

s, filled it with soda water and ice, and p

brought it to her lips, she used the motion to p

silhouett

fraction of an inch. It was just a hallucination. The strobe lights and h

g the energy back up, sla

odels chuckle. "May the bastard who ghosted you never come b

panic. She forced a laugh,

cohol-fueled bitterness. "I pray every single night t

fingers, prete

out that miserable prenuptial trust fund

e models raised their glasses,

curtain behind their booth-the one blocking the private

tepped out of

pensive cigars and an aura so suffocatin

ile on her face died instantly. Her pupi

posed to be at, Constance's hands spasmed. She crushed

urtain. She was still talking, h

na to walk up a flight of stairs," April

m the sofa like she h

om! Now!" Constance stutt

e grabbed her Birkin bag and bolted toward the club's b

t been. Confusion knitted her brows. She turned to the models

t from an unknown, encry

rust fund might take longer

face. The phone slipped, almost

ing the crowd. The models, thinking she wanted

ring a Patek Philippe watch

the half-empty champagne g

atch your net worth," a low, magnetic

man standing behind the sofa made them instinctively scra

from the impossibly expensive watch, up the tailored black su

. A cruel, sharp smil

black dress for the funer

th to speak, to defend herself, to apologize, but not a

glass over the ice bucket in front of the models. Then, with a flic

ith a violent,