Ninety Days Left: The Dying Wife's Revenge

eans and expensive leather. Tessa sat in a secluded booth near the back

imed. A blast of cold stre

of dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. The silicone mask sat perfectly on his f

dropping the sunglasses onto the table. His dark ey

nd pulled out the formal employment contract and the

s, his eyes scanning the strict clauses demanding his av

nd signed 'Ash' at the bottom of the page

her wallet and pulled out the heavy, solid metal b

iven her on their wedding day. The irony was suffocating. He rea

red his voice, the synthetic modulator making it sound rough

slow sip. Her face was completely devoid o

on the metal card. The edges dug

k eyes. Why would she use his birthday as the password for the mone

on, slipping the card into t

o leave. "I will messag

sh's hand shot out. His large fingers wra

ut his grip was immovable. The rough texture

ner of the booth. A dangerous smirk played on his lips. "Since I'

, he yanked her forward by the wrist

arge glass window exposed them to the street. Tessa's hands flew up, pr

cian closed his eyes, drinking in the taste of her, letting h

s window. He raised a camera with a massive telephoto lens. The rapid clickin

looked down at her swollen lips and her flushed

r eyes flashing with panic and fury. She snatched her bag from the tab

ded from his face, replaced by a cold, hard calculation. He

ne chimed. She picked it up with her free hand an

in a cafe. A vicious, triumphant smile spread across her face. She imm