PART 2: Three weeks after my midnight-blue Versace dress vanished from my closet

representatives.

And two private security officers.

Not for me.

For Grant.

His face finally cracked completely.

“Charlotte…” he whispered, stepping toward me again. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Don’t do this.

The irony nearly suffocated me.

For fifteen years I had protected that man.

Defended him.
Loved him.
Built a life beside him.

And he repaid me by handing pieces continue reading …