Page 31 of Stolen Fate

I was convinced there wasn’t anything she didn’t know, which was why I had someone tailing her to find dirt on her in case she wanted to be difficult when it came to the divorce proceedings.

I wasn’t convinced she didn’t have anything up her sleeves.

And I shouldn’t have been surprised when I opened the door to the suite and found her standing there, naked, except for the five-inch heels she wore.

She looked beautiful, as usual, with her dark brown hair straightened all the way down to the small of her back, not a single strand out of place, to that perfect creamy fair skin, not one imperfection to prove she was human, and her big brown eyes. Brown eyes that would look innocent on most people, but on her just looked conniving and calculated.

I wondered if Camila had ever been innocent in her life, or if she was born with a black soul.

Her big tits bounced a little every time she so much as drew a breath. My gaze went down to her flat stomach and small waist that I knew she earned at the gym every day, when she wasn’t busy fucking her personal trainer, then down to her wide hips, small pussy that was waxed bare, and shapely long legs.

She was beautiful in every sense of the word, which was unfortunate, really, that someone this beautiful could be so hideous on the inside.

The PI had told me she flew to Boston yesterday morning. I didn’t know how she found out about my meeting, and I was beyond caring.

“What do you want?” I asked tiredly.

She shot me a seductive smile and walked toward me.

Would she smile like that if she knew the sight turned my stomach?

Probably.

“You know what I want,” she purred.

“I don’t have time for this.” I turned my back to her, wanting out the room, but she grabbed my arms.

“Wait. You can’t leave me today, of all days. Not on the day Elijah died!”

I faced her, suddenly furious. “Don’t fucking utter his name!”

She backed away from me, and I would think she was scared if I didn’t know better.

“Just do it, Camila. Just sign the fucking papers so we can both move on with our lives.”

“I don’t want to sign the paper. I don’t want a divorce.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, you should. Because I’m fucking pregnant!”

I could feel all the blood draining from my face then, and I stumbled back a bit. “That’s not possible. If you’re pregnant, then the kid’s not mine, because I haven’t touched you in over a year.”

Her lips curled into an ugly smirk, and I had my hands balled into fists at my sides, refraining the urge to break anything. She patted her belly and my eyes moved to it. She didn’t look pregnant.

“Are you sure the kid’s not yours?”

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