The year I went completely off the rails, I played the part of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks and became the kept woman of the Manhattan tycoon, Cole Blackwood. In public, he was glacial. In private, a storm of a man, possessive and insatiable. I developed a taste for it. For three wild months, I let myself drown in him. Then, the novelty wore off. Just as I was about to call it quits, I overheard someone warning him: "You need to be careful with Ava. The last thing you want is to get her pregnant. Those true-believer types, the ones who think it’s a fairytale, are the hardest to get rid of." Cole's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Enough money solves any problem." He paused. "Besides, the girl’s in the thick of it. Incredibly clingy. There’s no rush." Clingy? Was he talking about me? That was funny. Because I seemed to recall him, drunk and wrecked, weeping and begging me never to leave him. And I happened to have recorded the whole thing.
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