He wouldn't let her go. He still had one bargaining chip: that plot of land.
But he hadn't expected the person who answered his knock to be a handsome young man. A sleepy, disheveled man wrapped in a white hotel bathrobe, no less. He recognized him—it was the same man from the photo on her phone, the one she called her fiancé.
His expression instantly darkened. He practically forced the words out through gritted teeth. "Where is she?"
The man's gaze flickered as he looked at him. Then, he leaned lazily against the doorframe and called back into the room, "Babe, there's a handsome guy here for you!"
"So early? Who is it?"
She walked out drying her hair, looking like she had just gotten out of the shower.
Ronan Joyce felt the gunshot wound in his chest throb with a sharp pain. If this scene didn't tell him what had happened between the two of them, he'd have to be an idiot. He clutched the breakfast bag in his hand, gripping it so tightly his knuckles ached.
