I think about this as I wear out my Prada heels. Blinded in anger because Vincent with any other woman makes me jealous. They have sex with him, they have his hands on their body.

And I? Me, Kylie 'Fucking' Bray, billionaire that can practically click her fingers and have men crawling on the ground can't have Vincent Stone even smile at me.

I hate it, I hate me, I hate him.

No I still love him. My mind is a jumbled mess, it is thinking thoughts, bad thoughts.

“I'm going to church,” I yell, sarcasm rich and deep in my notes, “My mama always says it's best to confess before you commit sin, then you can enjoy it better.”

“What sin do you plan on committing Kylie,” He shouts back, still following me, which is a first.

Vincent never follows me, ever. Why is he following me?

about him is now the new in

haven't thought about it yet.” I say in all honesty, and it is. I just know it is going to include Vincent's head probably detached from his body. Obviously I don't share this with him, but the

surprise. I stop mid-step. Still so revved up, my breathing labored. Seconds pass before I realize it is my ear piece I keep for my

scowling Made Man that now stands in front of me, I slip

train on Vincent's shirt

greedily inhales all that which I would never have, all that

hate him for

stronger than a need because of the desire for it. With Vincent it

so much control over you that you have no choice but to whither in a blanket of agony for

hell are you?” The shouting voice on the other side of my earpiece brings me out of my

out into the sun and closer to my

I just understand that

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