Page 62 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

I carry Valeria to the sofa in my office and lay her down carefully. Then I head into my private bathroom and retrieve a blanket and pillow.

Gently, I slide the pillow beneath her head and cover her with the blanket.

My fingers brush her temple. Her skin is too cold.

I lower the blinds. The office falls into darkness, shutting out the rest of the world. I’m about to leave when her voice stops me.

“Thank you.”

Two words. Barely audible.

“We’re right next door,” I tell her. “Get some rest.”

My voice comes out low, restrained, almost tender.

I’m beginning to understand there’s far more behind Valeria’s disappearance than I wanted to believe.

I linger for a few seconds, just looking at her, before forcing myself to leave.

The glass door slides shut softly behind me.

Stephen and Andrea are already seated in the adjoining conference room. Sitting around the glass table, speaking quietly.

The moment I walk in, silence falls.

Stephen studies me as though assessing whether I’m a threat.

I sit beside my brother, across from him.

“It’s time to put all the cards on the table.”

Stephen leans back in his chair, letting the silence stretch between us.

“He has a right to know,” Andrea says.

Stephen locks eyes with me.

“Does he?”

He’s looking for a reaction. He gets one.

“I just caught your employer sabotaging data belonging to my company,” I say coldly.

“If you really believe that, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Stephen,” my brother interrupts calmly but firmly, “we genuinely care about Valeria. She told me part of what happened, but we’re still missing the rest.”

She talked to my brother. Not to me. The thought burns like acid. But I remember something else too.

He knelt in front of her. He held her without hesitation.

Me?

I accused her. Attacked her. Said unforgivable things.

I never once gave her space to explain.

Not once.