"Thank you for?—"
"Don't thank me yet," I interrupted, moving to the bar and pouring myself a scotch. I didn't offer her one.
"You have no idea why you're here."
Her shoulders straightened slightly, chin lifting in that subtle defiance I'd found compelling from our first meeting.
"Then tell me."
I took my time answering, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, studying her over its rim.
She looked exhausted—shadows beneath her eyes, a slight pallor to her normally vibrant complexion.
Good.
Let her suffer as I had these past four days, sleep evading me as I replayed her lie again and again, searching for meaning beneath the words.
"Why did you lie to me, Savannah?" I kept my voice even, curious rather than accusatory.
"Not about who called you. I understand panic, impulse. I mean the elaborate fiction you created afterward. The hospital contacts. The donor lists. The details you fabricated to make it plausible."
She flinched, her hand reaching for the back of the sofa as if needing support.
"I don't know," she whispered. "It just... kept growing. One lie building on another until I couldn't stop."
"That's not an answer." I set my glass down with precise control.
"You're too intelligent for mindless snowballing. You made deliberate choices with each word."
Her eyes flashed with momentary anger.
"What do you want me to say, Lucas? That I'm a pathological liar? That I've been manipulating you from the beginning? Because neither is true."
"What I want," I said, moving closer, "is the truth. Not more convenient fictions."
The space between us felt charged, dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with power—who held it, who surrendered it, who wielded it against whom.
"The truth," she repeated, a bitter smile playing at her lips.
"You want the truth? Fine. I lied because I'm caught between you and your son. Because acknowledging Miles's place in my life meant confronting the ethical disaster we've created. Because every time his name comes up between us, I see something dark in your eyes that terrifies me."
Her words hit with uncomfortable precision, targeting vulnerabilities I'd thought well-hidden.
The possessiveness I felt toward her was primitive, visceral, beneath the sophisticated exterior I presented to the world.
"And what did you see in my eyes at the hospital, Savannah?" I moved closer still, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.
"When I realized just how elaborate your deception had been?"
"Disappointment," she whispered, not backing away despite my deliberate invasion of her space.
"Betrayal. And something colder I couldn't name."
"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"
Her eyes met mine, unflinching despite the tears gathering in their corners.
"Loss," she admitted finally. "I saw the moment you decided I wasn't worth the risk after all."
