From the moment I laid eyes on her, I wanted her. She was a vision. A fantasy. From her pouty lips, to the curves of her body, she was made purely for my desire. But I wasn’t the only man to fall on my knees for her attention. I was one of many. She didn’t belong to me. She belonged to VIP. Ysabelle was an escort.
And I was a married man.
This isn’t a love story, but a story about love.
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