Too Late To Save Your Dying Wife

g else, something uniquely Corrie-the only evidence she had ever been there. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled

w tight, and checked the safe hidden behind a painting. His bearer bonds, the spare cash, hi

n he heard the soft click of the front door. He moved to the top of the gr

er's light, but her eyes... her eyes were different. They were calm. Too c

s. "Finished with your little performance?" he asked, h

w glass coffee table in the center of the living room. From her simple leather tote bag, she pulled

ned it," she said

cle in his jaw twitched. He snatched the papers and flipped through them, his gaze scanning the dense legal

g. He leaned forward, his large frame casting a shadow over her. "Corrie, do you have

dency, my career, to be your wife. To manage this house, to host your business partners, to... to lose a child for you." He

g uncomfortable through him-a ghost of guilt-but h

ng to his full height to tower over her. "A s

ransaction," she replied, her

of her breath. He reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His f

forced through her teeth

rackled with tension. Finally, with a smirk, he released her. H

calling her bluff. "You want your transaction? You'll g

carefully constructed facade crumble.

ave a single, dec

nd walked out of the house, her ba

ce. For the first time since he'd met her, he had the disti

he side of the sprawling mansion. Tucked away behind a row of manicured hedges was a small, private gar

all, white crib stood against one wall, a mobile of soft, felt stars hanging above it. The walls were painted a pale, soothing yell

A place of hope tha

A sob tore from her throat. She sank to the floor, her body curling in on it

ehead pressed against them. The tears came then, silent and agoni

for the love she thought she had, for the lif

o the empty, silent room. "I'm so so

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