The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return

Carlota Hall gripped the heavy satin fabric of her bridesmaid dress, her knuckles turning white. She walked fast down the dimly lit corridor of the Manhattan Plaza Hotel. The heavy bass from the engagement party in the main ballroom thumped against the walls, vibrating through the soles of her heels.

She needed to get away from the crowd. She needed air.

Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea hit her stomach. Carlota stopped dead in her tracks. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her chest heaving. She leaned her shoulder against the expensive silk wallpaper, bending forward as her stomach cramped painfully. She dry-heaved, her throat burning with stomach acid.

In the shadows of a marble Roman pillar at the end of the hall, Donavan Raymond stood perfectly still.

The glowing cherry of his cigar illuminated the sharp, cold lines of his jaw. He watched her shaking back, his eyes narrowing.

Carlota dug frantically into her small designer clutch. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a mint and shoved it into her mouth. The sharp peppermint flavor coated her tongue, barely suppressing the sickness rising in her throat. She closed her eyes, taking a deep, ragged breath.

A heavy thud echoed on the thick wool carpet.

Donavan's custom leather shoes made a muffled, deliberate sound. Step by step, he was closing the distance.

Carlota's eyes snapped open. The sound of his footsteps sent a jolt of pure panic straight to her heart. She straightened up instantly. She turned her body, her eyes darting toward the green exit sign over the stairwell.

She took one step.

Donavan lunged forward. His large, hot hand clamped down hard around her thin wrist.

The force of his grip jerked her backward. Carlota lost her balance. Her back slammed hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs.

Before she could slide away, Donavan raised his arm and planted his hand flat against the wall right next to her ear. His massive frame boxed her in completely. There was nowhere to run.

The heavy scent of expensive tobacco mixed with his dark, masculine cologne filled the narrow space. It suffocated her. Carlota stopped breathing. Her chest froze.

Donavan's gaze dropped. His eyes, sharp as a scalpel, dragged over the waistline of her dress. She had paid a tailor extra to let out the seams just enough to hide the slight, undeniable bump of her stomach.

"What were you gagging over out here?" Donavan asked.

His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated against her skin.

Carlota forced her chin up. She looked away from his piercing stare, fixing her eyes on his silk tie.

"I drank too much champagne," she lied, her voice shaking. "My stomach is upset."

Donavan let out a harsh, humorless laugh. He reached out and grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He forced her head turn, making her look directly into his dark eyes.

"You haven't touched a single drop of