controlled—like a king on a throne rather than a broken man. The way his dark eyes followed her every step, sharp, watchful, dangerous.
And when his gaze locked on hers, a chill ran through her.
This man was hiding something.
She just didn’t know what.
What Simone did not know was that marrying Cameron Vance was never just a business arrangement.
It was a declaration of war.
And she had just stepped into the most dangerous game of her life.
Three months earlier, Simone Hart stood in the kitchen of the Hart mansion in Chicago’s Gold Coast, scrubbing dishes that were never hers to clean. The house was enormous—marble floors, chandeliers, six bedrooms—but Simone lived in a converted basement storage room with a window too small to call a real window.
“Simone!”
Monica Hart’s voice cut through the house like glass.
“Where’s my coffee?”
Simone wiped her hands and carried the pot into the living room, where Monica lounged on a white leather couch, dressed like a woman half her age and wearing enough makeup to hide every trace of tenderness.
“You took long enough,” Monica snapped. “Fix your hair. You look like you climbed out of a dumpster.”
