The CEO's Lethal Savior: No Master Here

, lay coiled near her calves. Its scales shimmered in the f

cked onto her face. The musky, suffocating sce

the distance to the door, the strike speed of the sn

would mark her as prey. She slowly lowered her chin, breaking direct eye contact

bare ankle. It flicked its tongue against her skin, analyzing her scent. Finding no threa

ith agonizing slowness, sliding them off the edge of

or of the guest

-black wheelchair. His security chief, Ian Foster,

ena standing unharmed on the rug. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

out a thick manila folder, and tossed it onto the

s a low, grating rasp. "Which Wall St

omprehensive background check on "Serena Vance." Eighteen years old. Prep school dropout.

to her. It felt like reading a poorly writ

onto the glass. "Your inte

st of his wheelchair. The overhead chandelier blazed to

raising a hand to

red, his gaze raking over her smeared, raccoon-like eyelin

he didn't say a word. She turned on her heel and

pumped a handful of expensive cleansing oil from a glass bo

issolved, swirling down the drain in a muddy stream. She splashed

cratic cheekbones and lips the color of crushed roses. Her eyes were a piercing, icy blu

y dried her face, and pushed her wet hai

ted. The visual shock of the transformation hit him like a physical blow. The cheap delinque

She tapped a manicured fingernail agai

ged to fit a specific timeline. And the money flow shown on these pages... it's too clean. It's so unnaturally clean that it feels l

stripping away his previous assumptions. The girl in front of him wasn't just a pretty face; she was

l space. "Give me access to a secure termi

less laugh. He opened his

, heavy footsteps ec

ide, crashed through the doorway. His fa

aving an episode. He's in the nursery, an