“Yes. I did not expect him to get greedy. I thought paying him for one phone call would be enough.”
The words still hurt. I wondered how long that sting would last—probably longer than he guessed and less than he deserved.
“And now you are feeding me soup.”
“Yes, I want to take care of you.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Constantly.”
I hated that I smiled, small and unwilling.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Don’t what?”
“Look pleased with yourself.”
“I am pleased. It still worked out for me the way I thought it would.”
“I am not here because I forgive you.”
“I know.”
“I am here because you made every other choice worse.”
His gaze held mine. “Yes. I know. You have to admit, though, that I was clear about my intentions from the beginning.”
The honesty should have made me angrier.
Instead, exhaustion rolled through me so fast I had to sit on the edge of the bed.
Miss Astoria jumped down from the windowsill and climbed into my lap. I slid my fingers into her fur.
Vincent stayed in the doorway.
“Your room locks from the inside,” he said. “Use it.”
“I will.”
“If you need anything—”
“I won’t.”
“Then if Miss Astoria needs anything.”
I looked down at the cat. She stared back at me like she had a long list of urgent and expensive demands.
Despite everything, a laugh slipped out of me.
Vincent heard it, and the room felt almost easy.
Then the memory of Katherine’s hand came back—the rain, the ledge, the choice. I wondered if this was what I deserved, not some grand punishment but a life where every safe place still had teeth because I had once mistaken survival for the right to take whatever I needed.
Vincent’s voice came quieter. “I will be in the living room.”
He left before I could answer.
