Free Perfect Fit by Naima Simone Page A

father is courting for the merger. According to her vicious gossip, you’re trying to land this deal on your back.”
    “What?” The word exploded from Rowyn’s lips on a hard gust of breath. Fingers of ice clawed at her, freezing the blood in her veins. “Darius?”
    “Darius?” Wanda repeated. Confusion wrinkled her brow seconds before surprise swept it away. “Do you mean the Darius you met in Seattle last year?”
    Rowyn nodded, uttered a faint “yes,” and skimmed the room, the ice in her belly and chest reaching for her throat. For the first time, she noticed the sly glances or careful avoidance of eye contact.
    No. Why would Cindy…? Rowyn closed her eyes. And heard her stepsister’s voice as if the younger woman stood next to her, whispering in her ear.
    “It seems I do understand after all…”
    Oh God. Cindy—sweet, butter-won’t-melt-in-her-mouth Cindy—had fucked her.
    “Rowyn.”
    As her heart executed a swan dive toward her feet, she turned around to face her mother’s pinched, thin-lipped face.
    “In the study,” she snapped, her black eyes glinted with fury. “Now.”
     
    ***
     
    By the time Rowyn closed the study door, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she’d just survived a gauntlet of stares and whispers. And each pointed look and hushed comment slapped and punched at her, leaving invisible but very real bruises to her pride.
    And it isn’t over yet. She drew back her shoulders, fixed her I-don’t-give-a-fuck mask firmly in place, and faced the family that stood across the room as one unit—against her.
    “Rowyn,” Pamela began, “I have never been more ashamed of you than I am at this moment.” Contempt dripped from her voice, and it wounded Rowyn more than she cared to admit. Not the words or even the scorn—those she was used to. Her mother’s quick acceptance of Rowyn’s alleged crime, though… It most likely never occurred to Pamela to give her daughter the benefit of the doubt. Or even defend her character.
    “Convicted without a trial, I see,” she murmured.
    Pamela slashed a hand through the air, cutting through Rowyn’s protest. “Do you deny that you slept with Darius Fiore?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “And before you lie, consider that we would not confront you if we didn’t have a reliable source about your actions.”
    Inside, Rowyn snorted. Like hell. The validity of the source or the information didn’t matter one damn to them. It was the embarrassment of being whispered about that had tried, convicted, and hanged Rowyn. And the source—she studied Cindy—wasn’t that reliable.
    Her stepsister wore the appropriate concerned-and-disappointed expression. Yet beneath the slightly troubled frown, her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction and malice that Rowyn had always known existed beneath her sweet exterior. From the time Rowyn had entered Daniel and Cindy’s home, the younger girl had perfected her innocent persona while all along playing her cruel games.
    Daniel, so besotted with the child by his beloved first wife, didn’t perceive how Cindy monopolized his affection, gently demanding his attention so he wouldn’t give too much to his new wife. He didn’t catch on to her seemingly guileless comparisons of her mother and Pamela, until finally he found himself married to an embittered woman who hadn’t been able to compete against her first husband’s family and now couldn’t win the love of her current husband from his dead wife.
    Cindy delighted in drama, unhappiness, and confusion—especially if she was the maestro behind the discord.
    Her stepsister met her stare, and a tiny smile lifted a corner of the younger woman’s mouth.
    “Well?” Pamela demanded. “Do you deny it?”
    “No,” Rowyn answered, voice steady. “I don’t.”
    “You slut,” her mother spit. Rage contorted her features, and for the first time, Rowyn recognized the hatred that ate at the older woman like a cancer. Hatred for the daughter who was a