PART ONE
The crystal chandelier of the Pierre Hotel ballroom didn’t sparkle half as much as the tears threatening to spill from Meline’s eyes. One moment she was the devoted wife standing by her husband’s side. The next she was drenched in vintage champagne, the cold liquid soaking through her maternity gown as the room fell into a suffocating silence.
Her husband, Parker, didn’t offer a napkin. He didn’t offer an apology. He just laughed, a cruel, sharp sound that signaled the end of her patience.
He thought she was a nobody, an orphan with nowhere to go. He had no idea that the three black SUVs currently screeching to a halt outside the hotel on Fifth Avenue contained some of the most dangerous, wealthy men in the United States, and they were here for her. Hours earlier, rain lashed against the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of the penthouse overlooking Central Park, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the atmosphere inside the Mitchell residence.
Meline stood before the full‑length mirror in the master bedroom, her hand resting protectively over the heavy swell of her eight‑month pregnancy. The navy blue silk of her gown stretched tight across her stomach. It was a beautiful dress, custom‑made, but she felt less like a woman and more like an inconvenient piece of furniture that had suddenly become too bulky for the room’s aesthetic.
“Are you ready yet, or do I have to drag you to the car?”
The voice came from the doorway. Parker Mitchell stood there adjusting his cufflinks. He was a handsome man in the way a shark is handsome—sleek, sharp, and predatory.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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