Evelyn Grant shivered, tears falling like pearls from a broken string. She was so helpless, all she could do was cry.
She gasped for air, strands of her soft hair drifting around her. She was utterly in the palm of his hand, completely under his control.
Preston Keaton looked down, his face cold, the hostility in his gaze unmistakable. Seeing her pitiful state, crying herself hoarse, he felt not a shred of compassion.
Seeing her shattered, speechless expression, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bathroom, and forcefully gripped her chin, forcing her to look at herself.
"You obviously can't leave me either, baby. Where could you possibly run to?"
An unbearable heat flooded Evelyn Grant's body, making her fingers twitch in anguish.
She was like a bewitching flower, blooming in all her decadent beauty for Preston Keaton.
A heart-stopping sight.
