Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35111 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35111 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
But when she had met him, when she had made the mistake of falling for him, she had given it all away. She had burned all of her bridges because she wanted to prove to herself that she trusted him. She trusted him to love her and protect her.
And yet, all he had done was humiliate her.
God, God, God, what he had done?
And what the fuck would he do now?
Chapter Twelve
Five weeks had passed, and there still wasn’t any sign of Velvet. His men constantly monitored all planes and ships bound for America from every exit point in Greece, but so far none of them had yielded any records about having a passenger named Velvet Lambert or even Dorothy Garfield.
And today, his visits to all of Velvet’s known acquaintances, including a particularly hard one to her closest friend Mandy, had all been unproductive, leaving Mykolas exhausted and deeply worried. If anything happened to her, he might as well die. He would not be able to live with himself if she had been hurt because of his cruelty.
“Mr. Sallis?”
His secretary’s hesitant voice made him pause before entering his office. “What is it?”
“I was cleaning my drawers this morning and I, umm, I found something that may have belonged to...” As if unable to continue, his secretary simply handed him a brown box.
Opening it, Mykolas was stunned to find a recognizable piece of Velvet’s underwear – the very same one she had worn...
For their wedding.
He knew because he had been the one to help her put it on himself.
“Thank you,” he said roughly before striding into his office and slamming the door shut. He gripped the small piece of fabric hard. It was at that moment he wished he really was an idiot – or at least stupid enough not to be able to piece the clues together and figure out how his wife’s underwear had gotten there.
But unfortunately, he was only a fucking idiot when it truly mattered.
And so his mind recreated the scenario for him.
Velvet, learning about his request for her to meet him at his office—-
Velvet, thinking he was no longer able to wait to have her before they left for their honeymoon—-
Velvet, taking off her panties in hopes she could surprise him—-
But Mykolas had ended up surprising her instead, and in the most humiliating way possible.
With shaky hands, he pushed the panties into his pocket. Right now, it felt like his only link to her even if he doubted it would yield any kind of information regarding Velvet’s whereabouts.
Taking his seat behind the desk, Mykolas closed his eyes wearily and tried to place himself in Velvet’s shoes one more time. She had left her bag in his office. She had spent all her money, and after what he had done, she wouldn’t even think of spending his.
She would feel vulnerable...naked...because of his callous actions, because of how his betrayal had turned her supposedly pleasant surprise into a twisted joke. She would have wanted to bolt. To hide. He was sure of that, but he also knew she would be too proud to ask for help from any of her friends.
What was left to her?
And that was when it hit him.
She had nothing left but a ticket.
****
Velvet was tired.
Not just physically, but inside, too, where the exhaustion went bone-deep. Maybe even deeper, to the point that even just thinking made her feel like passing out.
It was a Friday night, and the bar was rowdier than usual. More drunkards, too, but she hoped to God none of them would be as violent as the truckers from the other town last week. They had almost demolished the entire bar, costing Mr. Rodrigo thousands in repair work. They were put behind bars, of course, but that hadn’t given the bar owner recompense for what he had spent.
“Order, Table 3,” Bell, the British waitress, told Velvet as she passed her by while balancing two trays filled with empty plates.
“Got it,” Velvet murmured and did a quick about turn to head to where the customers wanting to order were. She had to maneuver herself out of reach of groping customers as she did, but this was something she was well used to by now. It still felt demeaning and terrifying, but at least it no longer made her want to cry.
She wasn’t weak now.
She was getting stronger.
Or at least she thought she was until she saw who her customer in Table 3 was.
Mykolas.
Dressed in a black shirt and jeans, he was at his most casual, his clothes seemingly chosen to make him blend in with the crowd.
What a joke.
He was Mykolas Sallis.
Whatever he wore, he would always draw attention to himself. He was too used to possessing and wielding power not to stand out. Even now, all the women in the bar were staring at him, some of them open-mouthed, others near to drooling. And the men were not much better. She had a feeling they would have challenged him to a fight just for the sake of bloodying his pretty-boy face if not for the pair of intimidating-looking men behind him, their blazers partially pushed behind them to reveal the guns holstered at their sides.