Page 92 of Unlock My Heart

“In that case, don’t move, and don’t touch a thing,” he warns. “We’ll decontaminate once I’m finished.”

“Clark, I meant figuratively,” I mutter, walking out.

Hysterical laughter bubbles in my chest, and I barely make it to my bathroom before I begin crying.

Fabien broke his marriage contract for me.

He murdered the fed for me.

He went to prison for…

“Shut up!” I slide to my ass, wrapping my arms around my knees as I sob.

After a shower filled with confusion, more tears, and more confusion, I get dressed only to realize I’ve started my period.

And then panic really sets in. Please, God, tell me the movers didn’t throw away my box of pads!

Everything’s tossed from the vanity cabinets until it looks like a tornado hit this room, but the box isn’t here.

I sprint downstairs to my work studio, searching the desk, and my heart begins beating once again when I find the worn box. With trembling fingers, I remove the pad and clutch the photo in my hands.

“Mrs. Calvani, are you alright?” Saint appears, looking ever the mild-mannered lawyer.

“Fine.” My voice is too high as I slip my hand with the photograph inside my pocket.

“Everything’s good upstairs. Your security detail should be arriving soon.”

“Security detail? You mean spies for my husband.” I cross my arms.

“What’s in your pocket, Mrs. Calvani?” Saint’s gaze zeros in on it.

“Seems Fabien doesn’t need spies when he has you,” I say with pursed lips. “It’s a pad, if you must know. You can be a good little snitch and tell your boss I’ve started my period.” With the flourish of my hand, I swipe the pad box into the desk drawer and shut it.

Saint’s cheeks heat. “Um, perhaps that’s something the two of you can discuss when you visit your husband this afternoon⁠—”

“Oh, I’m not visiting my husband,” I correct him.

No way I’m seeing Fabien again until I have a solid footing beneath me. Even if he was telling the truth about avenging me, it wouldn’t have been necessary had he left the lounge with me in the first place.

Nobody.

The man destroyed me with one word. And if I have half a brain cell left, I’ll never forget it.

“But—”

“The deal was that I marry Fabien; nothing about my ‘duties’ as wife was specified.” The doorbell rings, and I breeze past him.

Saint beats me to the door, glancing out the peephole before opening it.

A man dressed in tactical gear is holding a monster of a dog on a leash. “Mrs. Calvani,” the man addresses me.

“Yes?” Hate how quickly I answer to that name.

“I’m head of your security and handler for your new guard dog.”

Saint hands me an envelope, and I open another letter with Fabien’s familiar scrawl.

Sienna,