Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn’t been enough for him, if I’d been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I’m at work one night when he walks inside—the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it’s the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant—but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he’s hooked.
I don’t get much of a say in the matter, and that’s not surprising when I learn why—because he’s the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules—or pay.
And now I’m his.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Fleur
I entered the building, walked up the five flights of stairs because the elevator had been busted since I moved in, and then got my key in the lock. The door opened, and I entered my small apartment, the one-bedroom flat with a kitchen that also served as a laundry room. I flicked on the light switch and then gave a small jump at the sight of the man sitting in the armchair like a goddamn gargoyle. “Jesus…” I gave my keys a squeeze before I tossed them on the table and set my purse down. “I told you to stop doing that.”
He continued to sit there with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders broad in his jacket, his eyes down on his fingers as he gripped his phone. It took him a moment to lift his chin and look at me, his hazelnut eyes full of self-loathing. “If you don’t want me here, then pick up your fucking phone.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Adrien.” It was nearly two in the morning, but the City of Lights still had people on every corner, riding their bikes to the opposite side of town or smoking in the cafés downstairs. Au Pied de Cochon was right near my apartment, one of the few restaurants in Paris that basically never locked their doors or turned off their lights because it was open almost twenty-four hours. I’d eaten there a couple times after my shift, but mostly just to wind down with a cigarette.
He rose to his feet, in dark jeans and a leather jacket, raindrops visible on the material like it had sprinkled on him during his walk from the car. He left the green armchair and came close to where I stood by the round dining table, which held a vase full of flowers that I’d grabbed from the market yesterday. “I found a marriage counselor—”
“I don’t want to go to counseling,” I snapped. “I want a divorce.” I’d asked for a divorce the moment I’d discovered his infidelity, a treason he didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. But he’d made that request impossible to grant. Made me jump through endless hoops, just to get rejected by the court—because he’d paid everyone off.
“We’re Catholic. We don’t believe in divorce—”
“So you fucked around under the assumption I would never leave?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I don’t want to make this marriage work. I’m a fine piece of ass who doesn’t need this shit. I want a man who keeps his word and is so brutally honest that it’s almost cruel. You are not that man, Adrien.”
The anger flickered across his face, but he tightened the reins on his rage. “I made a mistake. I told you it wasn’t an affair. She meant nothing to me.”
“But she was worth your marriage?”
His nostrils flared, but he still didn’t yell like he normally would. “There was a lot of shit going on at work and I had too much wine to drink, and she came on to me. I had a moment of weakness. I’m fucking human.”
I rolled my eyes. “More like a Neanderthal.”
His desperate eyes were locked on mine. “I said I was sorry about a million times.”
“I don’t want an apology. I want a divorce. I want you to stop popping up in my apartment like you still own me.”
“You’re still my wife—”