The Erased Wife's Spectacular Wedding Revenge

Cont

f glittering lights that was the Las Vegas Strip spread out below me. Alex's white dress shirt, the one he'd unbuttoned hours ago, was the

d write. It wasn't just a wedding. It was the most dangerous contract I'd ever negotiat

riate" for a bride of uncertain lineage. The Richter piece for the string quartet-obscure enough to feel personal, classical enough to pass ins

other what power actually cost. They said I was either very brave or very stupid. I'd never told them which. The truth was simpler: I'd looked at Alex and calcul

lex's chin rested on my shoulder, his voice a low rumble aga

harts and monograms. None of them had sounded like this. It carried weight-the kind that could crush you if y

he way it always had. But as my fingers traced the column of his neck, I found it-a

dings exhausted ever

my face. "You were untouchable today. E

the word landed wrong. *Untouch

ave me," I said. "For better or wo

f the shirt I was wearing-his shirt. "Now," he murmured,

mell like a man who's been celebrating his last

o'd practically carried him to the suite. His coordination was off. The jacket landed askew on the bed. His phone was already in his hand-he'd been glancing at it between kisses, a habit I'd noticed over the last week but dismissed as pr

ed for three years, its pages filled with other women's dreams executed to precision. To

d shut. The shower came

I breathed out, slow and even.

e on the nigh

. Gianna. I'd never he

m where I stood-just the name,

nt cold. The kind of cold t

one from the Rossetti side of th

. On his we

d the phone. The shower was still runnin

ked i