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“I have not forgotten about Violet,” I bit out. “I would never forget about her.”
Preston’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He knew me well enough to know when he’d hit his mark.
“You leave with me now, I’ll… forget about your little vacation.” His eyes flickered around the room in distaste. “I’ll make sure our daughter doesn’t find out what a whore her mother is.”
A sound came out of Swiss’s throat, very close to a growl. It was the first time he’d made any kind of noise since Preston announced himself as my husband.
The sound was feral. Dangerous.
Freaking deadly.
And Preston was not immune to it. I was satisfied to see pure terror flash across his face before he masked it.
“I’ll be in the car.” His voice didn’t betray the fear he couldn’t completely hide. His eyes burned into me. “I trust you’ll make the right decision. For our daughter.”
He turned on his heel and left, his shoes clicking against the floor as he did so.
Both Swiss and I watched as he left the compound.
The silence ringing in the room was deafening.
Someone cleared their throat.
I blinked, realizing it wasn’t just the two of us in the room. We had an audience.
All of the people I’d come to love. To respect. Who’d made me feel like I belonged in a way I never had before.
Now they knew who I was.
Who I wasn’t.
I couldn’t look at their faces, not when my own was hot with shame.
There was only one person in the room who mattered right now anyway. One I wished I didn’t have to face, but I needed to. I needed his eyes, his strength. Needed a reminder of who I’d become in just a few short months.
So I took a deep breath and turned to face him.
He was already staring at me. But his brown eyes were hard, as unyielding as stone.
He was mad. Rightly so. I’d lied to him.
But he would understand. I hadn’t lied to him about what was most important. About who I truly was. He saw me. He’d be pissed, but he would forgive me.
“Rowan,” I said, using his real name, my voice scratchy. He’d told me it, not even a week ago, when he had started sharing more about himself with me. Trusting me more. My skin crawled in discomfort, not just at having an audience, but at the way he was looking at me.
Like I was a stranger.
It hurt, but it was fixable. We were fixable. We were permanent. I just needed to tell him.
“I can—"
“You’re married.” His voice was off. Something about it was foreign to me and downright terrifying.
His expression was exactly the same. Cold. Detached.
I was suddenly extremely cold, despite the warm temperature of the room.
“It’s… complicated,” I said, my voice frail. Tiny. He’d never heard my voice like that. Only one man had scared me enough to make my voice that small. And though I knew Swiss was dangerous, deadly, I never, not in a million years, imagined he would scare me enough to awaken that voice. That version of me.
