Nika laughed. “And who told you you have any right to my premarital apartment? Don’t even think about it.”
Nika stood in the entryway, staring sadly at her favorite Italian sneakers. They weren’t just in the wrong spot—someone had shoved them into the deepest, dustiest corner of the shoe cabinet. And in their rightful “front-row” place, right on the doormat that said Welcome, stood a pair of glossy patent stiletto ankle boots—sharp, predatory, finished … Read more