Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Our lips meet, soft at first, tentative. Then the dam breaks.
She tastes like wine and something sweeter, something uniquely her. My hand cups her face, my thumb brushing against her cheek as I deepen the kiss. She makes a sound, a soft whimper that shoots straight to my gut.
When we finally pull apart, her eyes are wide, her lips swollen.
“That was...” she starts, then trails off.
I smirk. “Unexpected?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, her voice shaky.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us thick with tension.
“You’re dangerous, cowboy,” she says finally, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“So are you,” I reply, my voice rough, “city girl.”
She laughs, the sound breaking the tension and filling the room with warmth.
“Guess we’re even then,” she says, her tone lighter now.
“Guess so.”
We finish dinner in relative silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound. But the tension doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows, coiling tighter with every stolen glance, every brush of fingers.
When the plates are cleared and the wine is gone, I walk her to the door. The night air is cold, biting against my skin, but I barely notice.
“Thanks for dinner,” she says, her voice soft.
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it more than I should.
She hesitates, then leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
“Goodnight, King,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin.
“Goodnight, Sugar.”
I watch her walk to her car, my chest tight and my mind spinning.
She’s not just dangerous. She’s a wildfire. And I’m not sure I want to put her out.
Chapter Five
Indie
The screen glows in front of me as my father’s voice grates like nails on glass. He sits behind the massive oak desk in his study, flanked by leather-bound books that have probably never been opened. His features are sharp, as always—perfectly groomed salt-and-pepper hair, piercing eyes that have seen too many boardroom battles, and a mouth that never smiles without an agenda.
“You’ve embarrassed this family beyond words, Indie,” he says, his voice low but brimming with restrained fury. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to us? To Chad? The Van Allens and Burtons were supposed to unite. The two most influential families in this town and now you’ve ruined everything.”
I sit on the porch swing at Aunt Betty’s, the sun warm on my face, but his words make me shiver. My fingers tighten around my phone. “Ruined everything? Dad, I walked away from a man who hit me. Who controlled me. How is that ruining anything?”
His laugh is cold, a sharp, humorless bark. “Marriage isn’t about love, Indie. It’s about power. Legacy. Chad and you were supposed to be the cornerstone of something bigger than yourselves.”
I grind my teeth, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t care about power or legacy. I care about being happy. About building a meaningful life–not spending my life with someone who makes me feel small.”
“Happy?” he scoffs. “You sound like a child. Do you think your mother and I got married for happiness? For love?”
In the background, I catch a glimpse of my mother. She’s perched on the edge of a chair, wrapped in a pristine Chanel suit, her eyes downcast and shadowed. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move—just sits there like a porcelain doll, fragile and lifeless.
“Of course not,” my father continues. “We married for strategy. And look where it got us. Everything you’ve ever wanted—private schools, European vacations, summers in Gstaad, Christmases in Whistler. Do you think any of that came from some Disney fairy tale notion of love?”
My chest tightens, anger bubbling under the surface. “And what did it cost, Dad? Mom? She looks like she’s barely alive.”
His face hardens, the sharp planes of his cheekbones casting deep shadows. “Your mother has everything she could ever want. She understands her role. You could’ve had the same, but instead, you’ve made us a laughingstock.”
My voice rises, my control slipping. “I don’t want that life, and I won’t apologize for leaving it behind. I’d rather be alone than chained to someone like Chad.”
“You’re being selfish,” he snaps. “This scandal is going to cost us—financially, socially. The tabloids will eat it up. Do you really want to see this family crumble because you couldn’t play your part?”
I feel the tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “I want a life that’s mine, Dad. Not one you built to keep up appearances.”
“You’re being foolish,” he growls. “And mark my words, Indie—you’ll regret this.”
The screen goes black as he hangs up, and I let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words still heavy on my chest.
Aunt Betty steps out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. Her silver curls are pinned back, her sharp eyes softening as she takes me in. “Your dad giving you grief again?”
I nod, swiping at my face. “He doesn’t understand, Aunt Betty. He never will.”