“Now you’ll never marry my son!” my mother-in-law laughed, setting my wedding dress on fire. I wiped my tears, smiled coldly, and said, “Enjoy destroying that dress, because the wedding was never the real trap.” Her face went completely pale when I made one quick phone call…

for the rings, a microsecond of sheer panic seized Jason’s features. The platinum bands had been entrusted to Margaret’s designer handbag.

Before the silence could curdle, Richard Wilson stepped smoothly out of the front row, his face a mask of practiced, unflappable calm. He produced a sleek velvet box from the inner pocket of his tuxedo. “I took the continue reading …