I've worked a decade for this. I've sold my soul and my reputation. I've lived a lie, smiled for the cameras, and hated myself, all for this fortune.
And then ... she pops up. A mysterious heir with a rap sheet, combat boots, and a mouth that I want to pin shut with my—
It doesn't matter. I've played this game for a decade. I can continue the charade a little longer, keep my hands to myself and her body out of my mind.
I can keep my secret until the ink dries and everything is mine.
Or not.
