Seven Years of Omertà

When I lost my baby in a car wreck, Dominic just happened to be driving by with his personal aide in the passenger seat.

He saw my white dress soaked in blood, shielded Penelope's curious eyes with his hand, and coldly muttered, "Bad luck. Don't look." Then he sped off.

That same night, while I was in the bedroom of the townhouse on Sloane territory, I found a lace bra stuffed in the corner of our closet. A bra that definitely wasn't mine.

I stood there for a long time. The house was quiet the way houses in this world are always quiet. Not peaceful. Monitored.