“You wrote clause seven,” she whispered back.
The sixth month, he got sick. A flu that felled the devil himself, leaving him shivering under five blankets, too proud to call his private doctor. Lena found him on the bathroom floor at 2:00 AM, his forehead burning, his silver eyes glassy. contract marriage with the devil billionaire
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “You wrote clause seven,” she whispered back
Lena looked at Dorian. He looked at her. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed uncertain. “You wrote clause seven
On the drive home, Lena said, “You didn’t have to do that.”