lia

en, a quiet little flower shop tucked away in the Chicago suburbs. But today, the familiar environment

g felt like a lead weight. I had spent ten minutes in the back room bathroom with liquid soap, frantically trying to pull i

ec

nhouse. Her brow furrowed as she took in my pale face and the dark circles u

ell her I was legally tethered to a stranger. "Just jet lag, Mom," I managed a

f for the interrogation, but she just sighed sof

hone with trembling fingers. I opened a browser and typ

r. He was the star player for the Chicago Mustangs, splashed across sports pages and tabloids ali

ived in a completely different universe. I didn't want his money or his fame. I just wanted my ordinary life back.

ick

my teammates kept asking why I was so off my game, I just wanted to move on from the Vegas disas

n island. He slid a manila folder across the marble co

"Tell me she's a con artist

o trust funds, no offshore accounts, no suspicious debts. She doesn't have th

. I thought of the way she had looked at me in the hotel room, the sheer panic in her eyes when s

phone buzzed. The caller ID

e, brightly lit hallway of the ER. The suffoc

assed away shortly before you arrived. Given the sudden nature of his cardiac arrest, there a

my chest. John Sinclair was dead. The titan who controlled the Sinclair empire, the man I

rri

e said smoothly. "I've already secured your father's private files. The arrangements for the

I said

usting his glasses. "Before I can proceed, I ne

ran col

amendment to his trust last week. It hinges

Vegas marriage certificate Marco had handed me earlier. A sickening realization hit me like a

k spelling out Cecelia. She wasn't just a random headache. S