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About The Rich Guy's Wife

Be careful what you wish for. Mother's voice rings in my ears as I stand perfectly still in the darkness, fearing that each breath I take will be my last. I’m crouched down in the closet with blood on my hands, my legs and back aching to move, even an inch. But I can't. One twitch, one cramp, and I'll bang into a shelf and give myself away. When Stefan Zeigler swept me off my feet four months ago, I had to fight the voice in my head telling me that my new boyfriend was too good to be true: handsome, wealthy enough to own a home in the Hamptons . . . and totally into me. Or was that Lucy's voice, my gal pal attorney friend who doesn't need a man to live large? Or my mom's voice, warning me of controlling prenups and the dangerous secrets of the superrich? I'd always dreamed of a better life, and working my way there wasn't going so well for me, with my pile of student loan debt, a rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan I could barely afford, and a stable but low-paying PR job. Is it so bad that I dared to believe in a fairy tale ending, even after I found out about his felon brother? Or his nefarious business associate? Or the fact that his last girlfriend looked a lot like me—and seems to have vanished into thin air? But now I see that fairy tales have a dark underbelly beneath the glitter, just like my life right now. I'm Erin. I got what I wished for. I'm a rich guy's wife now. And it just might be the death of me.