ick

ute, she just glared at me, her chin tipped up in that infuriatingly stubborn way. She was terrified-I co

y fascinating. Finally, realizing she had no way out of this room, she snatched the pen from the ta

leather folder restin

wer in my father's study just hours after he died. Seeing my o

uldn't even remember. But I wasn't about to go into a corporate war blind. I had brought Cecelia here to in

esolute posture now, I was hea

ative. "You'll find everything you need in there. A king-sized bed, fresh clothes, toiletries, and a full en-suite bathroom. But don't

rm, asking about Cecelia. The girl was a bulldog. She gave me nothing but fierce praise for her friend's character, her loyalty, her absolute kin

g widow to absolute perfection, dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief, but I could fe

read the next morning at the Sinclair estate. I saw the flash of raw

ompletely untouched. A strange, unwelcome flicker of concern went through my chest.

h the slight crack, I saw her. She was curled up on the window seat, her knees pulled to her

he thought, and drove to th

ling, their faces grim but their eyes greedy. Matilda, Hays, and Kinle

d. Properties, minor trusts, and stocks were dist

Chicago Mustangs and the entirety of Sinclair Sports & E

ing shares of Sinclair Sports & Entertainment, and ownership of the Ch

held it

Garrick Sinclair, is married, he is the sole inheritor. If he is unmarried, al

zle violently snapped

s my father's arrangement to prevent all of this. John knew his health was failing, and he knew exactly what Matilda was capable of. He h

ing with fake, sickening pity. "Oh, Garrick. Such a shame. But don't you worr

th murmurs of sympathy for me and congratulat

ed as Matilda eagerly reached for the

, I

'll be disappoi

gh the noise like a skate blade on f

d up. I held u

ght of the crystal chandelier. It was identical to the on

hick, suffoc

acked. She looked like a porcelain doll

sses up his nose, his voice filled with shock and

s, disbelieving gaze, wa

my voice clear

er Stone. "Peter," I commanded, my voice leaving no room for argument

he blood drain entirely from Matilda's face, the pure, unadulterated rage

ve. The girl I thought was a

a glass of whiskey, ignoring the f