Genevieve was only too glad to walk out of the massive hotel and be away from Clara Braithwaite. She knew that she was older than the billionaire’s wife. Genevieve was twenty-nine now and Clara looked twenty-four or at most, twenty-five and the latter seemed to have more unwholesome knowledge than the former could ever possess.
For all the emotions she felt, Genevieve was furious. Not at Preston or Clara, not even at Gerald, but at herself. She suddenly felt stupid each time she thought about what Clara had said.
“Everyone is a w***e,” those words kept ringing in her head even as she got to her landlady’s house.
Could it be that Preston’s calm and modest personality was just a façade? Was he just like Clara? And the rest of the people she referred to as whores? Was Preston just trying t
