Waking Up My Comatose Tycoon Husband

reamed through a gap in the heavy curtains, painting a stripe of gold ac

Hadley Sinc

he covers, her movements clumsy with haste. She shot a panicked glance at Hadley. He was exactly as s

d urgent. The real reason she had agreed to this insane bargai

tique

mind. "It was pinned to your blanket when they fou

d been stolen from her grandmother's nursing home room a week ago. The police had been useless.

the bottom of her worn canvas backpack, she pulled out a heavily encrypted sate

ingle, coded

ine. Status

hadowy figure known only as "Ci

rp. Traced back to a single IP

The Fosters hadn't stol

ext text c

origin. Only three ever made. One was

old-money dynasties. Rivals to the Sinclairs. A

m Cipher landed li

similar locket? Eleanor Sincl

, wasn't just a random piece of jewelry. It was directly,

t a marriage contract anymore. This was a mission. She had to find that locket. The Sinclairs must have orchestrated the theft to

adley's room. Her eyes, no longer soft with sleep, we

's locket? It was a long shot, a d

, her movements as sil

tly as she leaned over him. He could smell her scent again-faint soap and something uniquely her, som

touch was light, almost clinical, but it sent a jolt of pure electricity through Hadley's feigned unconsciousness. He f

to his chest, patting down his torso through the thin silk, checking for the hard outline of a chain or a small, metal ob

k echoed through the

nd resting flat on

older, kind-faced man in a butle

ry, Aria lost her balance.

the waistband of his pajama bottoms and landing squarely, unmis

leau of pure mortification, shared by all three people in the