doorstop that barely prevented the handle from going through
the wall. And, like a sleeping princess from some sordid fairy
tale, there she was. Still sleeping so peacefully. So sweetly. So
innocently.
She wasn’t innocent. She was a con woman. A liar. She’d
insinuated herself inside Giana’s life, inside her home, into her
bed. And fuck, they’d really done it. They’d been married for
real.
But there were medical tests to prove she wasn’t of sound
mind. She could fix this. She could get this thrown out. This
woman, who wanted to get her hands on the Thompson family
fortune through trickery, the greedy, scheming little witch,
would get nothing. Giana would pursue her. Persecute her.
She’d hound her to the ends of the earth and make her pay for
what she’d done.
Another memory, fresh and cutting, bit and swirled through
her mind. This woman, Coralyn Anderson, coming into her
office. Some babble about her dying father and the necklace
that he’d designed. His dying wish. She’d said no. Wanted to
send her away. Then, something about a curse, and she’d hit
her head and that was when everything changed.
Giana surged forward, a tide of seething wrath, but when
she got to the edge of the bed, all she could do was reach out
gently, her fingers caressing the smooth silk of Coralyn’s
shoulder, brushing away a strand of hair. Another memory
crashed into her, this one just days old, of them standing
before that JP, another of them in the shower, only hours
before.
What was wrong with her that she’d blindly trusted this
woman? Giana’s heart beat a terrorized frenzy in her chest and