Cynthia sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the large window across the room. The Parisian skyline stretched beyond the glass, the city lights flickering like a silent orchestra playing in the dark. But she barely saw any of it. Her mind was elsewhere—trapped in the past, in memories she wished she could erase.
She hugged her knees to her chest, inhaling deeply. The room smelled expensive—like fresh linens, vanilla, and something distinctly masculine.
Mike.
His presence clung to everything in this house, suffocating her like a second skin.
She closed her eyes. How did she even end up here?
A month ago, she was just Cynthia Taylor—the struggling girl buried in her late father’s debts, the girl who still believed in love, in hope.
Now, she was Cynthia Richard, the contrac
