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Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife
img img Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon's Unplanned Wife img Chapter 4 4
4 Chapters
Chapter 7 7 img
Chapter 8 8 img
Chapter 9 9 img
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 4 4

The Maybach descended into the private, brightly lit underground garage of the Tribeca penthouse.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in the VIP parking bay.

The driver instantly killed the engine and rushed out to open the rear door.

Silas stepped out first.

He turned, bent down, and reached into the cabin.

This time, Evelyn didn't gasp.

When his arms slid under her knees and behind her back, she naturally leaned her head against his solid shoulder.

Silas's chest expanded as he took a sharp, quiet breath.

He carried her toward the private elevator.

The doors slid open, and he carried her inside. The ride up to the top floor was completely silent.

The elevator doors chimed and parted, revealing a massive, ultra-modern penthouse.

Carson, an older British man in a pristine butler's uniform, stood waiting in the foyer.

He bowed deeply. "Welcome home, sir. Welcome, madam."

Silas walked past Carson and gently deposited Evelyn onto a sprawling, custom-made Italian leather sofa in the center of the living room.

He stood up tall and immediately adjusted his left cufflink, his signature gesture when he needed to regain control.

"Carson," Silas said, his voice clipped and authoritative. "Show my wife around the apartment. Make sure she has dinner."

Evelyn looked up at him. She caught the subtle dismissal in his tone.

"Are you not staying for dinner?" she asked, her voice perfectly neutral.

Silas looked down at her. His eyes were unreadable.

"I have an emergency merger meeting with the London office," he said coldly.

He didn't wait for her response.

He turned on his heel and walked straight back into the elevator.

The metal doors slid shut, cutting off his towering figure.

The massive, multi-million-dollar penthouse suddenly felt incredibly empty.

Carson stepped forward, pushing a custom-built, ultra-lightweight indoor wheelchair.

"If you please, madam," Carson said kindly.

Evelyn suppressed a sigh. She transferred herself into the wheelchair and let Carson give her the tour.

The penthouse was stunning, but it felt like a museum. Cold, hard lines, dark marble, and glass.

It was a physical manifestation of Silas Thorne's personality.

Carson wheeled her into the master bedroom.

Evelyn's eyes widened slightly when she saw the walk-in closet.

It was massive, and half of it was completely filled with brand new, current-season haute couture women's clothing.

She reached out and checked the tag on a Chanel tweed jacket.

It was exactly her size.

The Thorne family efficiency was terrifying. Or perhaps, Silas was more attentive than he pretended to be.

Night fell over Manhattan.

Evelyn sat alone at the end of a dining table meant for twenty people, eating a perfectly cooked piece of salmon.

By midnight, she had showered and changed into a silk nightgown.

She lay in the center of the massive king-sized bed, staring at the dark ceiling.

At exactly 1:00 AM, the soft beep of the biometric lock echoed from the front door.

Heavy, exhausted footsteps moved down the hallway.

The bedroom door opened quietly.

Silas walked in. The cold air of the city clung to his suit.

He stopped at the foot of the bed.

Evelyn kept her breathing slow and even, her eyes closed. She feigned sleep.

She felt the heavy, physical weight of his gaze on her.

He stood there for a long time, perfectly still.

Finally, he turned and walked into the master bathroom.

The sound of the shower turning on filled the room.

Evelyn opened her eyes.

She stared at the frosted glass door of the bathroom.

Through the blurred glass, she could see the dark, broad silhouette of her husband standing under the water.

She pulled the heavy duvet up to her chin, her mind racing with questions.

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