Ransom leaned against the cold brick wall, his dark suit blending into the shadows. He didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like the kind of sin people confessed on their deathbeds.
Ransom reached out, his thumb grazing the pulse jumping in her neck. His touch was lightning—dangerous and grounding all at once. He was the man her father hired to keep her in line, the silent shadow meant to protect her reputation. But in the dark, he was the only one who saw the cracks in her porcelain mask. Thorne Princess by L.J. Shen
The velvet curtains of the Royal Albert Hall didn’t just muffle the sound of the London rain; they held back the suffocating weight of a crown Hallie Thorne never asked for. Ransom leaned against the cold brick wall, his
"Then bite," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Stop playing their game and start burning the board. I’ll provide the matches." Ransom reached out, his thumb grazing the pulse
The stage manager signaled. The lights flared. Hallie took a breath, the taste of rebellion sweeter than any champagne. She didn't walk onto that stage to be a princess. She walked out to be a Thorne—and for the first time, she wasn't walking alone.
"You’re shaking, Princess," he murmured, his voice a low grate that skipped down her spine. "It’s cold," Hallie lied, chin lifted.