His Cruel Love, My Broken Heart

For three years, I was Bradley Porter's bodyguard. And his substitute. Tonight, I took a bullet for him, the wound in my shoulder still fresh.

But he didn't care. His assistant pulled me out of the hospital, my wound infected and feverish, because the woman I was a substitute for, Kylie Tyson, was back.

At the private airport, he embraced her with a love I had never seen.

Kylie looked me up and down with disdain. "Bradley, make her carry my luggage."

He saw my pale face, the bandage peeking from my collar, but his voice was sharp. "What are you waiting for? Get the luggage."