Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
“I do.”
Her gaze jumped back to his face and she flushed with mortification. “You do?”
He nodded. “I was sitting in my study when I read yours. Your words hit a nerve in me, so deep I reread them three times.”
Her sharp embarrassment shifted into something softer. “You did?”
He pressed a kiss to the creamy slope of her shoulder and whispered, “It would be a luxury if, for just one day, I could breathe air that doesn’t smell of hunger.”
His words—her words—settled into the lowest part of her hollow stomach. She lowered her lashes. “I’m not like you, Jack—”
He caught her jaw, lifting her chin before she could lower her head in shame, and met her stare in the mirror again. “You’re more like me than you realize.”
She looked at his handsome face wondering how that could possibly be. Behind him, gorgeous, custom-tailored suit hung in abundance. His soaps were labeled in languages she didn’t know. His lifestyle, his wealth, his power…it all went beyond anything her sheltered mind could measure.
It was then she knew this fascination he had with her wouldn’t last. She was a momentary distraction. Someone he could lean on as he worked through whatever demons of his past still haunted him.
A tightness formed in her throat and chest as she swallowed and tried to smile. “Thank you for the dress.”
Uncertainty flitted across his eyes, gone so quickly she dismissed it.
There would be many women in Jack’s life. Once he got past his insecurities, he’d be an unstoppable, irresistible, uncontainable force.
Turning to face him, she cupped the side of his freshly shaven jaw and rose on her toes to kiss his lips. His hands rushed to her hips, possessive and hungry.
“Whatever this ends up being, Jack, I’m glad you rescued me.”
He frowned, but said nothing.
One night. One fortune. Total transformation. It was the only promise given to her. She needed to be content with that.
Her smile trembled as she smoothed his collar. “You look very handsome.”
Her stomach tightened. This was the Jack Thorne the rest of world saw. The billionaire. The predator in bespoke armor.
His pale, glacial eyes searched her face. “Daisy—”
His phone buzzed with a soft whisper that carried the impact of a wrecking ball.
He glanced at the screen and cursed under his breath. Eyes apologetic, he said, “We have to go.” And just like that, any signs of vulnerability vanished from his face.
He fit an ivory lace mask over her eyes and tied it at the back of her head. Then he slid a simple black one over his face—an unnecessary touch, since his practiced disguise of unshakable control was already in place.
The grand staircase delivered them into a world remade by ruin.
Daisy’s fingers tightened on Jack’s arm as the ballroom unfurled below. The same Gothic cathedral that hours ago dripped with elegance, and the cloying musk of wealth, now resembled a field hospital after a siege. Chandeliers blazed overhead, indifferent to the carnage below.
Heat crept up Daisy’s neck as guilt surged inside of her. Her hair and skin still smelled of Jack’s soap and shampoo. Her lace dress whispered against her thighs with each step, pristine and absurdly white, while below, women stood in shredded gowns, bare feet blackened with forest mud, hair snarled with twigs and rain and the residue of hours spent running for their lives.
The contrast was obscene.
One woman cradled a bloated ankle, her satin dress cleaved from hip to hem, the fabric so filthy its original color was indecipherable. Another slumped against a column with mascara carved into dark tributaries down her cheeks.
A battered sea of wreckage.
Laughter, wild and brittle, ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling, and Daisy frowned, wondering how any one of them could laugh in such a battered state. Bruises mottled bare arms in watercolor shades of violet and ochre. Scratches crosshatched exposed shoulders like tally marks. Blisters wept from their dirty feet—rubbed raw.
But as they gathered, lurching in from the veranda they fled nearly twelve hours ago, the dead look in their eyes transformed to something else entirely. Their clothing, hair, and makeup were destroyed, but their pride seemed galvanized.
They gathered along the wall where they first debuted, and lingered in weary triumph.
Daisy’s stomach clenched with an emotion she couldn’t untangle. Admiration braided with shame. Awe knotted into guilt. Those tributes clawed through a nightmare she somehow escaped.
Their suffering was visible. Validated. Written on their bodies in mud and blood where hers had been washed away in a billionaire’s shower.
What price had they paid for the prize that awaited them? It would take years to calculate. And some may never fully review the bill.
The only thing Daisy knew for sure was that every single one of them had paid more than her.
Jack’s hand found the small of her back, steadying, possessive. The warmth of his palm sent a treacherous shiver through her.