–Jane–
That manwhore. How long is he planning to screw that woman? It's nine-forty in the morning. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to forget. But this bastard—this idiot—can make that woman scream for more than an hour. I thought they were done, but no. After a five-minute break, they were back at it again.
I shoved my earplugs in, trying to contain the rage burning inside me. Logan was doing this on purpose. I knew it. He always does.
At some point, I drifted off, half-buried under the comforter, earplugs in. But it didn't stop there—the walls started banging. I snapped awake, jaw tight, and crawled toward my briefcase. Quietly, I pulled out a gun with a silencer and got up.
His room was right next to mine. The door was slightly ajar seeking for the audience. I slid it open and—there he was. Logan. In that same damned robe, with the woman pinned against the wall. She froze the second she noticed me, eyes wide. I raised my gun, leveling it right between his eyes.
