Ninety Days Left: The Dying Wife's Revenge

op-floor office of the Sinc

him. The tabloid article had just dropped online. The headline screamed about the Sinclair wife'

the pressure. He was staring at a picture of his wife kissing him, but the world thought

leather-bound itinerary. "Sir, the private jet is prepped

desk, sending the tablet crashing onto the hardwood

ordered, his voice

this merger has been in the works

. His dark eyes were complete

ok a step back, and nod

vate cell phone began to ring. Th

th to suppress the violent urge to s

with fake tears. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I didn

per East Side. Tessa was wearing a canvas apron over

ing glasses, carefully inspecting the large oil painting resting on the easel. It was a stunning lands

ssa marched in, her designer heels clicking loudly again

walked straight up to the easel. Her eyes locked o

d, pointing a manicured finger

of the easel, blocking Vanessa's

ssa. You're about to be thrown out on the street. Y

s cane. Before he could reprimand her, Vanessa pulled out

narrative to make it sound like Tessa wa

to the edge by the kissing photo. He didn't care about th

d voice echoed through the gal

at Tessa. "Three

t in the outer office. "Wire three millio

inal at the front desk chimed with a n

l and looked at her b

he edges of the heavy wooden frame, her knuc

lance. Her shoes slipped on the polished floor, and she fell hard onto h

slamming his cane against the floor. But his f

her men carried the painting out of the gal

ch as a sharp pain ripped through her abdom

pron pocket. She pulled i

r again. This is