The Mute Wife's Secret Genius Comeback

d into the underground garage of a sleek glass

vator, bypassing the door

f the man: cold, minimalist, expensive.

e sprawling Italian leather sofa. It wasn't gentle, bu

ke. She blinked, disoriented b

er hair out of her fa

his cufflinks. He tossed them onto

hed you,

uestion. He k

m, her eyes red-rimme

to a bar? That was your strategy? Getting drunk in a

ttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves, reveal

ooting until her spine h

o her thigh. He leaned in, trapping her. His s

sked. His voice wa

shook h

for a long moment, sear

hat was the only

had expected him to be furious tha

fingers gripping her chin,

he said, his thumb brushing her lower li

ding his hoard, and she was just a coin in the pile. Bu

t was the adrenaline. She reached up, her hand trembling,

he was kissing her, he couldn't ask questio

ls dilated. He

asn't a kiss; it was a conquest. He

ting him take what he wanted. It was the only

. Heinrich moved with a hunger that suggested he had been starving, or perhaps

his skin. For a few minutes, she wasn't the mute victim.

her with methodical efficiency, the warm water sl

her in his bed. The sheets were

by the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a silk robe. He

onely. And

r neck. Her fingers

neck

reco

ad dropped it in t

oital haze. That recorder had weeks of audio on i

d her mouth. She needed the pain to stay awake. She couldn't sleep. Wh

the smoke curl from Heinrich's sil