“I acquired a subsidiary.”
“You paid my father’s bills.”
“I secured his care.”
“You are rearranging my life like it’s a spreadsheet.”
Silence.
His gaze held mine.
“You were drowning,” he said quietly.
“I was surviving.”
“You were exhausted.”
“I was managing.”
“You were vulnerable.”
“And I was handling it!”
The words echoed in the office.
He straightened slowly. “You believe I did this to diminish you.”
“I believe you did it because you can.”
He exhaled.
“That is not an answer.” I shook my head. “You can’t just pay everything and expect me to be grateful.”
“I did not expect gratitude.”
“You expected what? That I would just . . . fall in line?”
His eyes darkened. “I expect you to understand that I will not allow you to struggle unnecessarily.”
“I don’t want to live at the whim of a man,” I said, my voice shaking now, “who I won’t even be married to in two months.”
That landed. Hard. For the first time, the calm cracked.
He shook his head slowly. “Is that truly what you believe?”
“I don’t know, Raph. You haven’t told me otherwise.”
He stepped around the desk. Not aggressively, but with purpose. “I have no intention of divorcing you.”
The room went still.
I blinked. “What?”
“I did not enter this marriage intending to dissolve it.”
“That’s what we agreed to.” My heart started pounding harder. “You said six months.”
“I said we would review in six months.”
