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“Fine. We can go. You can watch the film and I’ll meditate or something.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she grins at me playfully and links arms with me as we walk out the door.
Chapter 3
Sophie
“Why does it haveto be morning already?” Henry rolls off me and stretches his arms above his head, then wraps one around me, pulling me toward him. “We could have gone for round two.”
I breathe deeply, letting my mind clear of everything to do with work as I rest my hand over the soft hair on his chest. His skin is warm beneath my palm, his heartrate still accelerated from the way he woke me up.
“I have a breakfast meeting,” I say, by way of apology as I extract myself from his embrace and sit, holding the sheet against my breasts. “Do you want to shower first?”
He yawns, his light brown eyes meeting mine. “Sure.” He swings out of my bed and saunters buck-naked into the bathroom, scratching the back of his head as he goes.
I wait until the door closes and the shower turns on before I fetch my robe from the back of the door.
Henry stayed over at my place again last night. I’d love to go to his place and see what it’s like, but he lives out of the city, and it would take over an hour to travel there during rush hour. He said he doesn’t mind leaving work early and comingto mine instead. And it makes sense because we get more time together this way.
I look at the bathroom door as the sound of him humming in the shower floats out. Halliday might not like him, and she’s my only friend who has met him. But the amount of people I meet through work means I’d recognize someone with a ‘bad aura’. I see them all the time. Sometimes, I read over a case and I know there’s guilt, even if the evidence is lacking. Call it intuition or experience. But those times a case gives me that gut feeling, I find a way to get the evidence I need. Because there’s always a slipup somewhere. A mistake. People make errors; it’s in their genetic makeup.
They call me the ‘Handler’ at work because I’ve never lost a case. No matter how heinous the charge. No matter how complex the case, or how flimsy it seems at first glance, I can handle it.
I don’t care who the defendant is, or how much money, power, or status they have. If they’re guilty, I’ll find a way to prove it. I never went into law to make friends. I went in to make a difference. Integrity is priceless to me. Dad was a highly respected judge before he retired. I need to make him proud.
I reach up for my robe on the hook. Henry’s jacket is hanging on top of it, so I lift it off, but it drops to the floor. As I bend to retrieve it, something slips from the inner pocket. I pick the item up, its weight increasing in my fingers as I study it.
Nausea coils in my stomach, making it lurch. The object taunts me, its shape and the meaning of it so glaringly obvious. An unbroken bond. No beginning and no end.
A circle.
A ring.
I swallow the bile in my throat as I turn the gold band between my fingers and read the inscription.
“V & H 27thMay.”
The 27this today.
My heart leaps into my mouth as the shower in the bathroom stops. I grab my robe from the hook and throw it on, knotting the belt tightly. Henry’s jacket is a forgotten, crumpled heap on the floor as I turn around, the evidence of betrayal lying perfectly in my palm like an offering.
A sacrifice.
Except all that’s been sacrificed today is my self-belief that I can spot a liar. People lie in court all the time. It’s my job to notice it, expose it, and then use it to my advantage to win.
For the first time, my instincts were wrong. They’ve let me down. This time, I’ve lost.
I’m so stupid. How did I miss this?
The bathroom door swings open and Henry wanders out, a towel slung low on his hips as he towel dries his hair with another. He grins at me, but it freezes on his face as he spots my outstretched hand.
“This fell out of your pocket,” I say calmy, holding the ring out to him.
His expression closes off in an instant, and he strides over to me and snatches it from my palm. The steamy, heated air from the bathroom comes with him, hitting me in the face and quickly turning to tiny droplets over my already scorching skin. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t do anything that will give away the fact that I am trembling inside as a mix of betrayal and disappointment floods my veins.
“Why are you going through my stuff? Don’t you trust me?”
“I thought I could.” My voice is even, despite my pounding heart.
