Karl Abby is doing so great during her testimony. She’s practically a natural at this, and is telling every little detail of her story—even the upsetting or downright embarrassing parts. I should be here for her, and I am; but part of me is somewhere else. Ever since that regal-looking Alpha wal
Abby My hand rests instinctively over my belly as I step through the front doors of my restaurant for the first time in ages. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon sunlight that’s streaming through the windows as Chloe and Leah follow me inside. Leah lets out a low whistle once we turn on the l
Asshole. Either way, it’s over now. Damon’s father, Reginald, offered absolutely no help to Damon. He let his son go to prison, cut him off from the family money, and disowned him publicly. Alpha Hendrick and Alexander Black got put behind bars, too. And now that the truth is out, La Belle Vie i
Karl As I walk up to the small, discreet cafe on the city block, I take a deep, shuddering breath. The phone call that I finally made a few days ago after weeks of dragging my feet has finally led me here—to speak with Reginald, the strangely familiar king. I still don’t know why he wants to mee
My eyes widen slightly. For a moment, I guess I had some sort of hope that I would not only regain a father, but a mother as well. But she’s gone, and I never even got to know her. “As the king, I had no choice but to remarry,” he continues. “For political purposes, I married a princess of a for
Abby When Karl finishes telling me about the amazing revelations that he had with Reginald—his father, as I’ve now learned—over coffee, I’m too stunned to speak for a long time. “So,” he says, “I think I’m going to go to his estate. And I’d like you to come.” I blink in surprise, swallow, and
I feel as if I’ve stepped into a fairytale set somewhere in rural southern Italy. In fact, the personal vineyard flanking the front lawn only adds to that feeling. Reginald gives us a brief tour through the enormous foyer, which is sunlit in a golden glow through the large open-air windows. The ma
Abby The large dining room feels surprisingly warm and intimate as the plates are cleared away. I lean back in my chair, letting out a small, satisfied sigh. “I take it that the food was to your liking, Chef Abby,” Reginald says with a smile. I can’t help but grin. The flavor of fresh salmon,