Ninety Days Left: The Dying Wife's Revenge

ound on the floorboards. He reached out, his hand

oak club with all the strength she had left. The wood c

failed, and the painting dropped to the floor, t

ell off. Under the harsh gallery lights, Tessa recognized the slicked

the front bells of the gallery chimed vi

hed the gallery, waiting for the exact moment Grandpa Sinclair's Rolls-Royce departed for hi

from earlier. She looked down at her assistant groaning on th

e painting on the floor a

guards intercepted her. They grabbed her by the shoulders

"The draft you let me take was pathetic. Did you really thi

. Her nails dug into the bodyguard's wrists, leaving ang

fingers at her injured assistant. "Ge

ped abruptly in front of the gallery. The rear door opened, and Luc

hifted. Her arrogant smirk vanished. Her eyes fil

free arm around his waist. "Lucian! Thank god you're here. I came back to

e saw the assistant holding his arm on th

ragged, and her eyes were filled with a deep, hollow disappointment. She didn't scr

o Lucian. It fueled the anger that

ng the bodyguards to rele

wn at her, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "Was three million not enough to

. The fight drained out of her body, leaving only a cold

eless," she said, her

c sob from behind Lucian, clutc

lled out a sleek leather checkbook, and uncapped his pen. He scribbled a n

ing her cheek before drifting to the floo

y. He turned his back on her, placed a protective hand o

she looked back over her shoulder and

the floor next to the five-million-dollar check. Her hands shook violently as she pulled the pill bottle from her pocket and swall