Page 66 of Sinful Lies

I glanced at the shattered wine glass on the floor, the fragments sharp and glistening, like memories I’d long since buried.

The only thing left now was the choice I had to make.

And, God help me, I would make it.

The game had changed.

And I had just turned the final page.

Chapter

Fifteen

“Never trust anything that a man will not set his reputation and name upon.”

?Jeff Grubb

Angelo

“...The thirty-three-year-old actress was found dead in her apartment this morning. Authorities are claiming that the Broadway star and Tony Award winner, half-American, half-French, shot herself at approximately two a.m. this morning. Residues of cocaine and ecstasy were found in her blood, and doctors confirm that the star had been diagnosed with depression and was undergoing medication for the last two years...”

I shut the TV off with a click and sank back into my chair, staring at the black screen.

Pauline Dupont had been a problem I hadn’t fucking needed, and now, she was nothing but a mess I didn’t want to deal with anymore.

But she’d served her purpose.

That was the problem with people like her—they thought they knew the game, but they don’t understand the rules until it’s too late.

And now, she was gone.

But the mess she had left was far from over.

My grip tightened around my coffee mug as I swallowed the hot liquid in one go, the scalding burn igniting a curse under my breath.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Grace stepped in a moment later, her face tight with a kind of controlled worry. She shifted from foot to foot, her hands fidgeting as she passed me my morning newspaper.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Channel 5, CNN, Fox News, and other media outlets are all downstairs in the media room, waiting for you.”

I set the mug down with a soft clink.

The media circus downstairs wasn’t a surprise.

After everything that had just gone down, I had known they’d be itching for answers.

I stood up, adjusting my cuffs. “Let’s go.”

As we approached the media room, I caught sight of Jade lingering outside.

Her hair, usually loose in wild, dark waves, was pulled back into a tight updo.

It didn’t suit her. Too neat, too restrained, like it was suffocating everything that made her,her.

The long-sleeved black dress she wore clung to her figure, but covered too much. Too modest. Jade wasn’t modest, and seeing her like this felt like looking at a faded version of something vibrant.

Her fake glasses—the ones she slapped on when she wanted to play professional—rested on her nose, but they couldn’t distract from what I saw beneath them.

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