The Heiress He Should Never Have Betraye

Theodore Morton suffered from severe insomnia. No matter where he went, his sleep therapist had to be by his side.

At a business dinner for a new project, Nanette Dickerson—the sleep therapist—covered her nose and smiled at me in front of every partner at the table.

"Just be a good little trophy wife. Why are you out here trying to act like a man? Nobody wants to listen to you talk with that breath."

I slapped her across the face on the spot. Her cheek flushed crimson in an instant.

The next moment, Theodore Morton pulled her into his arms, his voice thick with anger.