[Adelaide Knowles]
“Here, let me help you,” he says, holding his hands out to me. I’m pretty sure this is the day I die. Because Christian Castillo, the refined, stone-cold, heartless and obnoxious husband, has offered to help me out of his car. Is this the way business moguls actually kill their opposition? By being generous to them? I don’t take his hand. Instead, I hold out a little longer, he notices this and pulls back, but he doesn’t step aside.
“What now?” He rubs his temples with his thumb, his other hand resting inside the pocket of his slacks as he meets my gaze. I stare at his face, time seems to have slowed down and every line on his face, the soft angles, the sharper edges, his eyes, which seem to drown one in, becomes more vivid, clear, smothering. Like the silent realiza
