Chapter 9

• Taylor looked down at her, his anger melting into a cold, shocking comprehension of the disaster he had caused. She wasn't just some disgruntled fiancée; she was terrified, grieving, and entirely dependent on a marriage that had just been cancelled because of him.
• “listen, wait, look at me,” he said, his voice now gentle, but firm. He released her hands and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Why were you in my room? Look at the damn door number! My suite is one five double zero. Your friends were in one four something. This is the wrong floor! It’s the wrong suite entirely! Look at the room! Do your clothes look like they belong here?”
• Renee’s eyes darted around the enormous suite—the expensive, dark leather furniture, the abstract modern art, the remnants of Taylor’s discarded designer clothes on the floor. It was nothing like the bridal party's reserved rooms. Her chest felt tight, her lungs burning. She looked at the door. 1500. Her suite was 1422.