Billionaire's Accidental Wife novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Inside Alfonso’s mansion, Chelsea held her composure until she had reached her private quarters on the mansion’s second floor. Once inside, she leaned against the closed door and let her revulsion leak out of her in a shudder. At least she was getting better at the charade.

She doesn’t have any choice but to play this game if she wants to know about the sudden death of her step-dad. Yes, the man was not perfect, but he raised her enough to know that he didn’t just die for some unknown reason.

There was a time when she might have had to bite back a scream because the revulsion of Hermano touching her was too much. It had been a year since the old man’s death, but still, she was at a loss of what really happened to him in Thailand, and she knew Hermano was the one to blame.

Her skin, however, crawled everywhere Hermano touched her. His strong fingers were still on her body, on her breast. His harsh smack to her backside wounded her dignity as much as it did her ass. She despised being paraded in front of his cronies as his personal show pony, made to look and act as if she belonged to a gang of lunatics. To be fair, he did, in many ways, own her. Her existence. Her liberty. Hermano possessed everything, regardless of how much she disliked him. He may have had her body as well if she hadn’t persuaded him that taking that part of her would cost him the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose. So far, the threat had kept her out of his reach, but she knew he’d been tempted to put her to the test. She simply hoped that if he tried, she wouldn’t kill him. Because no matter how brilliant she pretended to be in dealing with Hermano, he always had one last, horrible card to play.

And she had no choice but to serve him as long as he held that over her head. She could never get away from him, not even in death. He’d made sure of it.

Chelsea knew better than to wait any longer. While he entertained his boot-licking pals in the big salon, he’d sent her away to retrieve the list of his associates. They were rejoicing over a hefty reward from a shipment of gold coins to the United States and the United Kingdom-a drug that ruined the minds of their own kind, the mob, turning them into blood-addicted monsters with just a small amount. They didn’t care if their unexpected gain came at the expense of human and young lives. She had learnt a long time ago that Hermano’s hunger knew no limitations. Neither did his rage. That her beauty had helped him amass his growing fortune, and the power that came with it, made Chelsea want to retch. How often had she thought about giving him a false name? False information? How many times had she dreaded that her help would one day prove useless? Not that seducing her enemies was difficult; after all, she was Helen of Troy’s beauty rival.

But she hadn’t deceived him, not once.

And, thankfully, her information had never been wrong. Either of those failings would come at the cost of innocent lives. Not her own, but the people she cared about most in the world. The only family she has left now

It was those precious lives she held close in her heart as she walked over to the cabinet across the room and retrieved the list Hermano would need downstairs. In reality, she was just biding her time, gathering information and evidence to take the bastard to his knees soon. She sighed and secretly took a picture from her phone, then left it in the bin for her accomplice, the cook, to take out later.

She cradled the folder in her palms and drew it out of the cabinet. Her face stared back at her in the reflection in the polished golden mirror — but that wasn’t all. Behind her stood the ominous shape of someone else.

Aman

Tall, immense. An intruder dressed entirely in black tactical gear. Chelsea sucked in a startled breath.

Fear streaked through her, but before her shriek could rip up the back of her throat, a broad palm came up to cover her mouth. Oh, God.

The folder was out of her grasp, thudding onto the thick rug. Muscular arms caged her from behind, immobilising her. She stumbled in her high-heeled sandals, helpless against the heat of a very strong, very male body. This wasn’t any of the other men gathered in the salon with him either, although there was no question that the male trapping her in his unbreakable hold was Breed. “Don’t scream, Chelsea.”

He spoke right up against her ear. His growled command was spoken in a deep baritone that caressed her nerves.