Cynthia stirred awake, her body stiff against the unfamiliar softness of the king-sized mattress. It took her a moment to remember where she was—Mike Richard’s mansion.
Her husband.
The thought made her stomach coil. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would make everything disappear. But when she opened them, reality greeted her once again.
She was now Mrs. Cynthia Richard.
Not out of love. Not out of choice.
A contract. A debt repaid with her name, her dignity, and whatever was left of her fragile sanity.
A deep sigh escaped her lips as she forced herself up. The bedroom was bathed in early morning light, streaming through the sheer curtains that barely concealed the sprawling city view beyond. She reached for her phone on the bedside table and checked the time. 6:30 AM.
He
