I wanted to laugh, but it came out bitter.
Years of hiding our marriage, and even now—divorce papers practically signed—nobody knew I was Ridley Collin's wife.
Nobody would ever call us a perfect match.
At least I was finally free.
I pushed down the sharp ache in my chest and walked out of the dressing room.
Morris sat on the sofa, transformed. The tailored suit hugged his frame perfectly, platinum hair slicked back with effortless precision.
Even a simple haircut looked devastating on him.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
I'd seen him furious, broken, raw...
But never like this.
He lounged with that dangerous kind of ease—one leg bent, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.
Smoke softened his sharp features, carving out shadows that made him look untouchable.
When I hesitated in the doorway, he raised an eyebrow, crushed the cigarette, and let warmth creep back into his eyes.
"Find something?" His voice dropped low.
