The Billionaire's Regret: My Hidden Wife

n felt like she wa

in his office. And every time she closed her eyes, she saw Eric's face-no

o hit someth

he studio specifically because she knew Aislinn sometimes needed a "therapy session." The car

ey cardigan. On went a leather jacket, a bas

ing garage, the engine gro

linn wove through the cars, the vibration of the st

up two lanes, moving at a steady, arrogant pace. The

She recognize

speak, how to breathe-flooded her mind. The arrogance of those

uttered, grip

e saw a gap between the lead SUV and the

rf

e Mustang shot for

Rose's designs on his tablet. He was mesmerized by the s

drowned out the q

t?" Eric aske

rity lead said from the front

is window. The car was inches from the metal guardrail. It was a m

s hand shot out the window. A single fin

, a slow grin spre

pped off?" he asked

t in, sir. G

lights weave through traffic. "Let

park of genuine am

ight near the exit for the Brooklyn Bridge. T

anted to see who was driving.

on the door frame, tapping fingers against the

iver t

eyes. But he saw the jawline. The curve of the neck. Th

nd, the wo

. It triggered a sensory memory from the night be

d to freeze, sta

sl

ht there. Five feet away. If she took off the g

brim of her cap and pulled it do

ht turn

gas, peeling out with a screech of tires tha

asked. "Did y

staring at the empty

the registration on a black '67

ht a

ater, the text

Harpe

obnoxious best friend. The socialite who s

ered, disappointed.

ey mouse from the office, but the thought was laughable. That timid creature couldn't handle a stick shift, let alone drive with th

it stayed with him. It was bothering hi

e car and rested her forehead against th

cl

e was tethered to that night. And as long as she was workin

installed on Eric's home network years ago-back when she was try

ned his

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he would be wearing the

sharp, dangerous

o go to