So why does this feel inherently wrong? Why do I feel like I’m betraying Darian?
Fuck it.
I type in his password, chewing my lip as the computer loads the home screen. Beaumont didn’t give me much to go on; he said he wanted sensitive information, something to use against Darian.
“Great help,” I mutter as I begin my search.
“What the hell is that?” Lauren says, blinking at a plant on a console table near the door.
I glance at it. “It’s a bat flower.”
“A bat flower?”
“Yes. I found it in a sale online the other day. It looked like an alien from Mars that could potentially come alive at night and beam my insufferable husband up to the mothership. So I thought: what a great way to spend my husband’s blood money. Unfortunately, he’s still here. Those teeth, whiskers, and the weird little eyes seem just for aesthetics. The thing can’t even catch flies like a Venus trap, but I liked burning his money, so I sent another hundred to his friend Sinclair and his son Elijah.”
“You sent a hundred of them to Sinclair and his son?”
“No, I sent a hundred of them to Sinclair and a further hundred to his son.”
“Two hundred of them ugly things? You’ll give them nightmares.”
I open a folder and skim the information. “Careful, or you’ll hurt the plant’s feelings.”
Lauren snorts a laugh.
I continue. “Word on the street is that Sinclair’s son is a psychopath who gets off on torturing women. I doubt a bat flower with whiskers and teeth will break his unfeeling shell.”
She bends and stares at it intently. “It’s kind of cute in a weird way, don’t you think?”
Clicking out of the folder, I open the next one. “I think you should keep a lookout.”
She returns to the door and presses her ear to the wood. Silence settles in the room while I read through files. It doesn’t take long to confirm that my husband is involved in an illegal weapon trade. No surprise there. He also owns an underground fighting ring. Interesting. Maybe it’s a lucrative business? The Darian I know likes to stay in complete control, except at midnight when his ghosts come out to haunt him. He’d never lower himself to fist fights for entertainment.
I’m insanely curious about why he stays up drinking at night. It seems at odds with the Darian I first met—a man who would line up the items on his desk until they were perfectly symmetrical. That man would never reach for the bottle and drink himself into a stupor.
But theyarethe same man. And hedoesdrink himself into a stupor.
Besides, I haven’t missed the concerned glances Sinclair slides in his direction when my husband isn’t looking. While Sinclair is all smiles and jokes, he has a more serious side, which I’ve only caught glimpses of in Darian’s presence.
“Cecilia?” Lauren asks, interrupting my thoughts with the careful tone in her voice.
I open another folder before giving her a raised brow to indicate that I’m waiting for her to continue. With a sigh, she leans back against the door. “Don’t you think you’re too involved with Darian?”
My hackles immediately rise, but I keep my face blank. “Involved? Why?”
“I hear you two fucking at night.” She gives me a pointed look, then enunciates, “Every. Night.”
“It’s just sex, Lauren.” I’m losing patience. Maybe there’s no file here with sensitive information like Beaumont seems to think. He said I would know which file it is when I find it, but nothing has stood out to me so far.
“I see how you look at him.”
“I don’t look at him in any way,” I quickly dismiss her.
When she stays silent, I lift my gaze with a frown to find her crossing her arms, hip cocked.
“How about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking?”
“You’re delusional.”
