The first spark of trouble had started with a single overheard name.
A few days back, Britney had been lounging in her penthouse suite, lazily swirling a glass of wine as the city lights sprawled beneath her. The evening was quiet, indulgent—until her phone lit up with a message from one of her informants.
Barton’s looking for a woman he had a one-night stand with.
Britney’s lips curved into a slow, indulgent smile. “Interesting…” she murmured, already tasting the possibilities.
Before she could set the phone down, another message appeared.
The woman was one of the two from the Hamilton family.
The smile froze on her face. Her grip on the glass tightened so hard her knuckles went pale. Hamilton. Her mind went instantly to the one name she couldn’t stomach. Annabelle.
Her pulse spike
