Regina sat on the edge of the ridiculously expensive couch, spine stiff, hands folded too neatly on her lap like she didn’t belong there. The mansion smelled like money...clean marble, polished wood, something cold and sharp that scraped the inside of her lungs. She stared at the ceiling and laughed under her breath, a dry, hollow sound that didn’t reach her eyes.
So this is what it feels like to be a rich man’s… what?
Friend? Pet? Temporary amusement?
She clenched her jaw.
Friend. That’s what she kept telling herself. Not a lover. Not a kept woman. Not a f*****g transaction with legs. Just a friend who happened to be sleeping in the same bed as Daniel Warren because a contract said so.
She pressed her palm to her chest, grounding herself.
This is temporary.
This is survival.
This
