Page 122 of Sinful Lies

I can’t believe I let a world-class, ego-driven, murderous asshole, overbearing jerk crawl under my skin.

Worse, I had broken my damn promise.

The one I had sworn on my soul, my sanity, and maybe even my favorite pair of heels.

The one that had said, “Jade, don’t let anyone—especiallyhim—mess with your head, and make you lose focus on your revenge.”

And yet, here I was, standing in the wreckage of my own boundaries, feeling equal parts furious and disgusted.

Honestly, someone should slap me.

Or better yet, shove me into traffic, because clearly, I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation.

Just thinking about how I had stripped for him,again—after he had humiliated me at the exhibition, solidifying the horrifying realization that I might actually have a degradation kink—and all he had done was… hold me.

And the bastard hadn’t even tried to take advantage of it!

Then, because I had the self-control of a toddler on a sugar high, I had opened my big, dumb mouth and almost spilled my real secret. Mymama? Seriously? If he started snooping,knowing him, he’d piece together my entire life story before his espresso cooled.

And let’s not forget—I hadcried.

In front ofhim.

After years of swearing to myself that I’d never, ever let it happen again. No tears, no cracks, no giving in to that soul-crushing, gut-twisting feeling. But then he had just… he’d opened the damn floodgates, cracked my heart wide open, and let every single demon crawl out.

I groaned out loud, earning a few glares from the women around me.

Perfect.

Now half of New York thinks I’m unhinged.

The other half probably already knows, anyway.

I hated that his story had stirred something in me—something I thought I’d buried a long time ago.Empathy.

That childish, useless thing I usually didn’t have the time or energy for. But the way he’d said it, the raw edge in his voice, what he had gone throughsoyoung… I couldn’t help but picture a little Angelo Lazzio, scared, alone, and enduring a hell no child should ever face.

It had made my stomach twist in ways I despised.

He murdered your sister, Jade!

No empathy for him!

My gaze locked on the pair of black heels adorned with crystals so dazzling they could probably guide ships home. They’d look killer with that black YSL dress Monica Lazzio had gifted me in Aspen.

I was already imagining the heads I’d turn when I started walking toward them, eyes glued—so much so, that I didn’t notice the human roadblock in my path until I had slammed into them, stumbling like a fool.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—wait… Jade?”

I glanced up, my eyes narrowing.

Long blonde hair, tiny frame, and those icy blue eyes that could probably freeze you in place if you weren’t careful.

Luciana Lazzio.

Lorenzo Lazzio’s wife—Angelo’s uncle’s wife.

The woman he had used to have a fling with.

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