ZURICH
I let Danish drag me away from the restaurant or I’d have ended up kîlling the fûcking accountant who dared to touch her and take her away with him like he had every right to. Like she was his.
She. Was. Not.
She was mine. She might not have said it back or accepted it like I wanted her to, but she was. Which was also the reason, why I was so pumped up with anger and fûcking frustration that it had been a whole month and I still haven’t dealt with her stalker. The same stalker who just left another note on our car: “See You Soon. I’m coming to take you back.”
I gritted my teeth, crumbling the paper in my fist and stalking back to the entrance of the restaurant as I fûcking needed to see her. I had been looking around the restaurant, doing the perimeter check with my men because
