His Dirty Little Secret
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Summary
The day I was supposed to choose the suit for my wedding, a stranger rushed into the VIP lounge and stabbed me.
“Stealing my woman,” he snarled, “and you think you deserve a suit that costs more than a car?”
He ripped my shirt, the fine fabric tearing with a sound that seemed impossibly loud. A grotesque smile twisted his face as he brandished a bottle, splashing its contents at me. The acrid smell of chemicals hit me before the liquid did.
Acid.
The cold steel was already buried in my gut. Pain, white-hot and absolute, forced me to my knees.
