I Was About to Marry My Mistress, 30 Years Younger Than Me.
Rebecca reached out and grabbed my forearm tightly.
“Jonathan, we urgently need to get somewhere completely private right now.”
“Tell me what happened to Christina first,” I commanded, refusing to move.
“She called me early this morning,” Rebecca admitted in a low voice.
“Why did she call you?” I asked, my blood running cold.
“Was she scared?”