Marcie, his mistress, had already been eyeing the ring he hadn’t bought yet.But she knew something had changed.The bitch was sulking now, withholding sex until she was sure he could keep her in designer shoes and private resort weekends.
Ungrateful little whore.He’d given her everything, and now she was acting like he was the one who’d failed.
Mark’s lip curled.He thought of his wife, lying rigid as a board every time they’d had sex.Lights off.No talking.No fun.Frigid cow.
No, Marcie was better.At least she used to be.And once this mess was cleaned up, he’d get her back on the leash.
Another swallow of bourbon burned down his throat, and he slammed the bottle between his thighs as a black-and-white cruiser rolled past.He didn’t even flinch.
The cop glanced at him—barely—and kept driving.
Mark smirked.
You idiot.Sitting in a running car, drunk, thinking about how to destroy a woman’s life—hell, maybe even end it—and the cop hadn’t even blinked.
This city’s full of blind fools,he thought.And they were about to learn exactly who Mark Sinstack really was.
Chapter 24
Jemma stepped hesitantly into Saif’s office, clutching the stack of reports tightly to her chest like a shield.Her eyes scanned the space, taking in the sleek walls and gleaming furniture.The room looked pristine now—elegant and impersonal, as if nothing had ever gone wrong here.
Ten days ago, this very space had been vandalized, angry words scrawled across the walls in red spray paint.You’d never know it now.Everything had been scrubbed, replaced, repaired.Like Saif—efficient, polished, and unreadable.
“Don’t just stand there.”
The low voice made her jump.She turned and found Saif seated on the leather sofa, surrounded by open reports and spreadsheets spread across the low coffee table.His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms dusted with dark hair.He looked serious.Powerful.Focused.
And utterly terrifying.
Her heart stumbled in her chest.
The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d been livid—barely able to look at her without fury tightening every muscle in his jaw.Then...silence.A whole week of nothing.No word, no warning.Until Friday, when his assistant had sent a curt meeting “request” for first thing Monday morning.
And so here she was—walking into the lion’s den, trembling under her calm exterior, wondering if this was the day he would destroy her.
Was he going to take Jayla?
Would he fight for full custody?Use his power and influence to snatch her daughter away and fly her off to his home country?
Would she ever see her baby again?
“Relax, Jemma,” Saif said, his voice low and impossibly calm.“Let’s discuss business.”His gaze flicked over her as he added, “And have something to eat.”
Jemma tried not to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny.Her palms were damp against the reports, her stomach twisted in knots.But she nodded and lowered herself onto the chair opposite him, hoping her knees didn’t give out entirely.She forced herself to smile as a tray of pastries was set between them.
She nibbled at a muffin, her mouth too dry for chewing.If she threw up on his beautiful carpet, that would really seal the impression that she was barely holding it together.
Then, without warning, his tone shifted.
“I’m not going to take our daughter away from you,” he said quietly.
Jemma froze.
She looked up and met his eyes—those intense, unreadable dark eyes—and for the first time since she’d walked into the room, she saw something that eased the coil in her chest.
Truth.
She released a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding and nearly sagged against the chair.“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
