Focus on Revenge A Photographer’s Killer Shot novel Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Take them off for me.”

He interrupted, voice low, eyes darker than the night.

I knew what he wanted.

And I knew he wouldn’t let it go.

In this marriage, I had always been the one who gave in.

My chest ached. I bit my lip… and removed the glasses.

They landed softly on the nightstand.

His hand reached down, wrapping around my delicate ankle.

“Lights off.”

I reached up and flicked the lamp.

Darkness enveloped us.

And everything else became sharper. Louder. Deeper.

It had been a month since he touched me.

Tonight, he was intense. Almost brutal.

[ clenched my teeth, enduring it silently.

Outside, the snow fell harder, wind howling against the windows.

Time blurred.

When it was finally over, I lay there-drenched in sweat, limbs trembling, a dull ache blooming in my abdomen.

And fear.

My period hadn’t come. And something in my gut twisted tight.

“Vincent, I-”

He didn’t like the distraction. His touch grew rougher, silencing me.

Every breath I tried to take was stolen by his kiss-sharp, forceful, unrelenting.

By the time it ended, it was nearly dawn.

I was exhausted, my mind slipping in and out of consciousness. A dull ache settled in my lower abdomen-not sharp, but enough to keep me from falling into deep sleep.

Somewhere in the haze, I heard my phone ringing.

Chapter

I cracked my eyes open and watched as Vincent, now draped in a bathrobe, picked up his phone and walked into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I didn’t know how much time had passed when I heard a car engine downstairs.

He was gone.

When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was still cold.

I turned over and rested a hand on my belly.

The ache had passed.

My phone rang again-this time it was Lillian, Vincent’s mother.

“Come to the estate. Now.”

Her tone was clipped, commanding. Not a request, but an order.

Five years into this hidden marriage, I was used to her attitude.

The Williams family was the most powerful among New York’s Four Great Houses. And though I came from the Veyra family, I was

merely the unwanted daughter.

Our marriage had never been a fairy tale—it was the product of two transactions.

The first happened eight years ago.

My mother killed my father in a domestic violence incident-technically self-defense, but the Veyra family turned against her. My brother and grandmother led the charge, pushing for a death sentence.

When I tried to defend her, they crushed me.

I was alone. Cornered.

That’s when my professor suggested I go to Vincent.

The Williams family had more power than the Veyras could ever dream of.

And in court? Vincent had never lost a single case.

He got my mother an eight-year sentence.

The second deal happened three years ago, during my divorce.

I had married my college classmate, Ethan Johnson, after my mother went to prison.

The marriage ended in scandal.

The man I thought I could depend on betrayed me in the cruelest way-and I lost my unborn child at eight months. With my name dragged through the mud, abandoned, grieving, I turned to the only person I could think of:

Vincent.

He didn’t question why I had left him so abruptly years ago.

He simply agreed to take my case-but with one condition:

I had to marry him.

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