Buying His DNA For My Heir

As a woman sitting on a ten-billion-dollar empire, I don’t believe in luck. I believe in precision. And my current project required the ultimate precision: a perfect heir.

Thomas Blackwell was particularly enthusiastic tonight. He went through three boxes of protection—or so he thought. In the heat of it, when his breath was ragged against my neck, he groaned another woman’s name. “Elva,” he whispered, promising her the world, promising her a future, promising her the children they’d never have.