My Divorced Wife Is A Zillionaire

ter was stark aga

t, his hands on her shoulders. "Is it your

he strength she had left, whic

e weighed nothing-his arms strong, his chest solid, everything a

you to the

re dark to die with dignity. But the pain was a white-hot monster with its teeth

with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over

ed. He glanced

ched to a hal

hat's wrong

seat, dry-heaving. The name alone m

't move. Just-stay where

hun

oked a

self. Boiling w

asp. "It's two in the morni

ide." He was already reaching across her to pop the passeng

d I

is eyes were alread

out,

got

leaving her swaying on an empty sidewalk in the freezin

m the house without it. She didn't have her wallet. S

. Sick. Bleed

her on the street to go put a Band-

d its way out of her

r life, abandoned her ambitions, poured every ounce of love she poss

een suc

She blinked them back-or t

pt around the corne

a f

city street-swerved at the last possible second. Tires screamed against aspha

ed. She hadn't

er's doo

steppe

suit he wore was bespoke, clearly European, the kind of craftsmanship that whispered wealth rather than shouting it. His face

e she was a problem

you h

d her mout

ways, and she pitched

r hit th

olid heat. Her cheek pressed against expensive wool. She could smell something clean a

ng against her ear. "I've got you. I'm t

or *I'm fine*, or *please don'

swallowed