Bridget had stomped out of Carson's study, a venomous rage pulsing through her. The dull echo of the finality she experienced was the thud of the door shutting behind her.
He had decided on Annabel. He had told her that he had never loved her in a flat icy tone.
Her blood boiled at the thought of his face and the fierce protective expression in his eyes. He had never given her that look in all the years they had known one another.
Her high heels clicked on the smooth marble floor as she strode down the hall.
Tears formed a carefully constructed mask of despair across her face. She wasn't the type of woman who actually cried.
But she was skilled at using them as a weapon. When she needed a new car she had used them on her father.
When she wanted to demonstrate her love for Carso
