Unknown (Unknown Identity #1) Read Free

sculpted her body with the singular motivation of making herself the best for Michael. Even as he wasted away in the hospital, she found solace in the gym, working out the aggression and rage that she felt washing over her all the time. She wanted to be beautiful for him. She wanted him to see her at her best before he passed. She wanted to be perfection that he could hold and touch before he left this world. Now, without him, all she saw was a hollow beauty devoid of purpose or the desire to keep going.
    She was certain that the gym was going to play a huge part in her process of getting her life back together, of working out her rage and frustration. She’d taken up boxing three months ago and found that it was most helpful to pummel her trainer when Michael had a particularly bad day. She knew she’d be back there often.
    Truthfully, men hit on her all the time. When she’d had Michael around, he would always fire some sarcastic comment or barb at anyone who hit on her and they’d vanish, but now she was all alone. Whenever someone tried to compliment her or was less than chivalrous about their advances, it made her want to cry. Her protector and champion was gone.
    Looking away from the mirror, she walked past the framed letter of acceptance she’d received from Grant when she was eighteen years old. It was the letter that told her that he wanted to read more about a female detective named Tiffany Black. When you’re eighteen and trying very hard to pursue a career in being a novelist, and in a last ditch effort send out the right query letter to the right agent, it’s overwhelming. When she was picking her classes for her junior year of college, she signed a deal with a publisher for six figures. She had paid for both her college tuition and Michael’s. She’d paid for this house and their cars. She had enough money in the bank that if she wanted to; she could move anywhere in the world and never work again.
    She was twenty-four and one of the wealthiest, most enigmatic authors in America, but without Michael it seemed worthless.
    She passed the bookshelf where her Tiffany Black series sat in pristine condition, her crowning achievement. When they had friends over, they had no clue that she was the author, that she was the mysterious Evelyn Frock. They would come into their home and they would always assume that one of them came from money and that was where they got all of their wealth, how they afforded a townhouse in San Francisco, and why Leslie only worked part time at a library. No one ever considered she could be an international bestseller. After all, how many people actually stopped and read the letter mounted on her wall? She took the framed letter down and slid it between the books on the shelf.
    When people started to arrive, Leslie felt like she was doing right by her husband. She smiled and tried her hardest to make sure she wasn’t a disappointment to everyone or rude to them. Everything that she said to them, everything that she felt like she was supposed to say to them felt like it was a lie. It felt like she was nothing more than just a shade standing in this house, a remnant of a life that had been ruined and flushed down the toilet. It was hard to feel anything other than overwhelmed with grief and despair. In the end, this was all that she had left. This was all that she was going to ever have from the life that she had wanted to start with Michael. She was alone, and for the first time in her life she didn’t have her best friend to be there with her.
    Friend, family, and people who had been part of Michael’s life streamed into the house one after another. Leslie found herself talking to all of them, smiling and nodding her head as she accepted everything they had to say to her. She found that there was relatively nothing that anyone could say to her today that she wouldn’t just offer a sweet smile and nod to. What else was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do in this