The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans, #2)

by Nikki Sloane

The best lies he told with his lips were the ones where he didn’t use words.

I was thankful for the noisy raindrops pelting the trees and pebbled path because it drowned out the sound of the sob welling in my throat. This was too hard, too much.

The curtains were open, and bright sunlight poured in from the oversized windows, chasing away shadows. The candelabras had been shelved on a side table. Even the impressive crystal chandelier overhead seemed transformed. It was elegant and regal, sparkling proudly rather than glinting sinisterly in the darkness.

Foul-mouthed and hot-tempered, he had one of those booming laughs that made a room go awkwardly quiet. He was loud in everything he did. And he was new money.

Macalister was dark everywhere except for his pale eyes. “Someday, you’ll see how I saved you. You may even thank me for what I did.”

Every psycho thinks this