The Price of His Nineteen-Year-Old Mistress

Porter

te box overlooking the main hall, Christopher was in his element, raising his paddle

ins, vintage-inspired sapphires, classic diamond studs. It

d boxes to our suite, Iris' s eyes li

fingers tracing the facets of a stunning

sonable. "Why don't you let Iris have this one? She doesn't have any nice jewelry. And after all," he add

dy turned to stone, somehow found a

und Iris's neck. His fingers brushed against her skin, his movements slow and d

asked, her voice a shy whisper as sh

oice thick with an emotion I knew al

and walked out of the box, mumbling

the marble-lined hallway, her sweet

her hand protectively covering

my voice hollow. I t

ddenly dropping its sweetness. "

would all be over. I would have my father back, and

led me to the grand staircase, her

e spoke again. "He's mine, you kno

t on my lips, but

push

dy off-balance, my body still weak from my injuries.

as I bounced down the unforgiving staircase, a rag doll in a designe

e world was a blur of pain and crimson. Warm bloo

the stairs, her face a mask of theatrical horror. In a single, calculated movement, she ripped

ing down her perfect face. "She pushed me, and I... I ac

yes took in the scene: me, lying in a pool of my own blood at th