Poverty is an understatement when it comes to describing my circumstances. My mother is a lost cause I can't get rid of, and I work my fingers to the bone just trying to keep my head above water.
Had she crashed into any other man's car, she could have walked away—but she hit mine. Upon seeing the bruises on her wrist, I struggled to contain my rage. Despite her objections, I refused to allow …
Nobody touches what's mine without fatal consequences, But when the most beautiful woman is brought to face my fury, My dead heart suddenly begins to beat again.
