His Political Prop, Her Revenge

ed on the pristine white ma

er hand outstretched, a single, perf

ed, her voice trembling for the a

hand like it was a wounded bird. His face, the one he used

ssed, his voice low but carrying

still in my hand. I hadn' t m

mping my arm just hard enough. The re

Brooke cried into Ethan' s custom-tailor

he' d sworn in this very spot five years ago. No

e crowd. "My wife... she' s not well.

t there. He was erasing me in front o

, but no sound came out. The shock

ided a weeping Brooke toward the hou

out. "My apologies. We have a pr

l uniforms came to our bedroom. Ethan

is tone final. "A retreat. In Montana.

t sound l

ded. "We can' t have these outburst

too stunned. As they put me in the back of a black

phant smile wa