Page 127 of Sinful Lies

“Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”

? Mae West

Jade

One red. One gold. One black. One green.

Of course, the bastard had thought of everything.

The dresses weren’t just hanging there—they werewaiting. Perfectly arranged, paired with sparkly shoes and enough jewelry to make a princess weep.

It was the kind of setup little girls dream of—the fairytale fantasy brought to life.

But standing there, all I could think about was how satisfying it would be to rip them all to shreds.

I shrugged off my coat, tossing it onto a chair before flopping onto the bed.

Grace’s call earlier should’ve been the red flag. “Mr. Lazzio has an emergency,” she’d said.

Emergency, my ass. It was a setup.

He’d been pulling me back into his orbit, like a planet trapped in his relentless gravity, no matter how hard I tried to escape.

Didn’t the man get it?

I’d been avoiding him for a reason—a list of reasons, actually—but mostly because if I let him drag me any closer, I’d lose the one thing I’d been clawing to hold onto: control.

And now, this? His family thinking we’re together?

He was delusional. Certifiably insane.

I’d dealt with egotistical maniacs before, but Angelo Lazzio didn’t just take the cake—he smashed it in your face, and expected you to thank him for it.

I stared at the ceiling, fists gripping the comforter like it was the only thing keeping me tethered. Enough was enough.

After this getaway, my plan would finally fall into place.

By the end of the weekend, Lazzio Entertainment Inc. would be nothing but ash.

And Angelo Lazzio? He’d be lying in a pool of his own blood.

It was the only way.

The only way to break free of his claws, and finally claim the revenge I’d been craving for years.

But for now, I had to play the part.

I had to pick a dress.

Not just any dress—one that screamed,I don’t want to be here, but you’ll damn well worship at my feet for gracing you with my presence.

The red one. Obviously.

An Elie Saab gown dripping in gold sparkles, its bustier mermaid silhouette tailored to perfection. Black velvet gloves to match.

And the pièce de résistance? The black Jimmy Choo heels I’d almost bought before Luciana had forced me to have coffee with her.

Must be fate for them to have appeared here.

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