Page 3 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
Heat curls low in my belly.
Not fair, that he could afford a wardrobe that clearly shouts his status and what amounts to the economy of a small third-world country. A hot feeling stabs in my chest.
He reeks of privilege, of taking his status in life for granted.
While I’ve had to fight every inch of the way. Hell, I am still battling to hold onto the last of my equilibrium.
"Last chance—" I wiggle my fingers, from where I am sprawled out on the floor at his feet, "—to redeem yourself…"
"You have me there." He places the glass on the counter, then bends and holds out his hand. The hint of dull steel at his wrist catches my attention. Huh? He wears a Casio watch?
That's got to bring down the net worth of his presence by more than 1000% percent. Weird.
I reach up and he straightens.
I lurch back.
"Oops, I changed my mind." His lips curl.
A hot burning sensation claws at my stomach. I am not a violent person, honestly. But Smirky Pants here, he needs to be taught a lesson.
I swipe out my legs, kicking his out from under him.
