From Fake Wife To Billionaire Heiress

back up. When she entered the penthouse the second tim

e called out, her voi

thing his hair, his face flushed. Ava was standing by the window, pre

r said, an edge of ac

ropping her keys in the bowl. She didn't kiss him. She d

d his eyes but

able in a private clinic on the Upper East Side. Dr. Evans, a sp

led of antise

Dr. Evans corrected himself, glanci

ll me the truth. Foster's family doctor told me two years ago, right after we

r. The ultrasound image was grainy, bl

oductive system is perfectly healthy. There is abso

reen. The white noise i

" Her voi

mily's influence... I would lean toward the former." Dr. Evans pri

medical record; it was a verdict. Foster hadn't just cheated; he had stolen her womanhood

and very little time." Inside the quiet, leather-scented interior, he presented her with a slim portfolio. She signed a preliminary document acknowledging her identity, and he handed her a heavy, ti

waiting in the foyer. There was a large, flat

t used to make her knees weak. Now, it jus

e box. "I know I've been busy latel

box. She untied the ri

beautiful, soft as a cloud, and utterly domestic. The kind of thin

tared

rs. His voice was gentle, laced with the poison of pity. "Since... well, since we can't have a family of ou

ic. The cruelty was so casual, so eff

she repea

Celena." He kissed the top of her head. "I have

ors," s

n." He squeezed her shoulders one last

ed shut, the silence of t

ooked at the expensive gray fabric, desi

box. Her knuck

ven take the

t down the hall to the trash chute room, and shoved t

hree floors down was the most sati

r small desk in the corner of the guest bedroom-her "

countant," she said t

Kensi

d Group has. I want to know where t

es

. I have a feeling I'm

window. The woman staring back wasn't the orphan who clea