The Runaway Heiress Returns For Revenge

Alexander was pure November in New York. It was a damp, biting cold that slipped pa

d floor of JFK's Terminal 4 arrivals hall. Her phone felt like a block of ice in her hand. A te

ckup area when a roar erupted f

of panic. It was

r cameras held high like weapons, strained against the barrier, a wave of black jackets and frantic energy. The sheer force of the commotion, a vortex of sh

that bleached the cavernous hall white for a sp

t that commanded a space just by existing in it. He wore a black custom-tailored overcoat, the li

e E

ed on in her chest. Three years, and the sight of his face-the severe line of his

d manufactured as the camera flashes capturing it. She laughed at something he must have

ty line, shoving a microphone toward Gage's face

ad slightly, his expression softening into something that looked unnervingly lik

gesture was a pun

er luggage cart, the cold metal biting i

ctly, blushed and buried her

and closing of the terminal doors, swirled

and Bulg

pupils c

six months creating in a tiny perfumery in Paris three years ago. The one

er, replacing her, and using the most intimate piece of her identity to do it. It was a cal

to get o

her hat low. She spun the cart around, aiming

n a groove in the marble floor, l

ificant, lost in the

asn't lo

the chaos in front of him, suddenly sharpened. It cut through the crowd, through

into a fist. The fabric of his

asked, her voice small. She looked up, trying to follo

ack into place. "Clear them out," he said to his secu

icking a frantic rhythm against the floor. She practically burst t

ere inside. An icy drizzle slicked her face. She spotted the black L

less, watching the Uber pull away from the

ut, hot and searing. He pressed a hand

again, a look of concern o

away, not gently.

toward the black Rolls-Royce Phantom wait