The Guardian's Trap: Claiming His Little Ward
Language: en
When I was eighteen, Vaughn Sterling, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, hooked his finger into the back tie of my dress and dragged me out of hell. "You guys don't want her?" "Fine, I'll keep her." Later on, he trapped me against his chest, deliberately tempting me: "I'm getting sick of hearing you call me 'Uncle Vaughn.' Want to change it?" I suppressed my frantically beating heart: "C-change it to what?" The man's voice carried a wicked smile: "We're not related by blood anyway. What do you think?"