The Good Wife Was A Lie
Language: en
My body had been hijacked by my best friend for three years. She’d "borrowed" it to get close to the untouchable, ice-cold Martin Duke. The very second she successfully completed her mission and handed the reins back to me, I snapped into consciousness. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and my hand was clamped around a pair of razor-sharp fabric shears. The blades were centimeters away from Martin’s five-hundred-dollar silk tie. I was completely disoriented, a surge of inexplicable rage boiling in my gut. My first instinct wasn’t to pull away—it was to snip. To ruin something of his,…