Page 103

“Mm.”

I set my fork down. “Paolo found proof that your dad was being paid by NovaGen. Bank records. Communications. Everything.”

Her fork stops moving. That’s all. Just a pause, half a second of stillness, before she resumes pushing rice from one side of the plate to the other.

“How much?” she asks.

“Started at five thousand a month, but it quickly went up from there.”

I explain the payments increased as NovaGen’s protocols became more aggressive, and that Harry wasn’t just accepting whatever they offered. I mention the communications showing him negotiating for higher compensation and even requesting that her mom’s seizure medication be adjusted to keep her compliant with the trial.

“Oh my God!” she gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Is that… I mean, you’re not lying, right?”

What the fuck?

I turn fully on my stool, my arm already reaching for her.

“What are you—”

Before she can finish talking, I wrap my hand around her throat, my fingers curl around the side of her neck, thumb resting under her jaw, and I force her face back toward mine. She doesn’t even resist, she just allows me to move her as though she’s made of clay.

“Look at me,” I demand, my tone harsh.

Her eyes find mine.

“You can yell at me if you want,” I growl as my thumb brushes the pulse point under her jaw. “Call me an asshole. Hit me. Do whatever you need to do, but don’t ever fucking think I’m lying to you, Kira.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… hard to believe.”

Though I can understand that, I still don’t like that she thinks I’m lying to her.

“If you ever do that again,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “I’m going to put you over my knee and spank you until you remember that I’ve never lied to you. I am not fucking kidding, wife.”

For one second, nothing happens. Then her eyes narrow. The faintest crease appears between her brows. Her mouth tightens into something that isn’t quite a frown, but isn’t her usual blank mask either.

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice is still weak and thin. But there’s something behind it. A spark. A flicker of the woman who told me exactly what she wanted and didn’t back down until she got it.

Relief hits me so hard I almost smile. My thumb strokes the line of her jaw, feeling the tension there, the first real resistance I’ve felt from her in days.

“There you are,” I murmur. I lean in and press a kiss to her closed mouth before letting go of her.

Her glare holds for three seconds. Then it fades, and her eyes drop to my chest. She takes a breath that shudders on the way in.

“Tell me the rest,” she mumbles.

I arch an eyebrow and press my lips together, determined to remain quiet until she looks at me. It takes a couple of minutes, long enough for the silence to become heavy and awkward.

“Ask me nicely.”

“What?”

I study her face. The hollow hasn’t gone away, but there’s something waking up behind her eyes. Something that looks a little like the woman I married.

“I’ll tell you,” I say. “If you ask nicely.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across her lips. The corners of her mouth twitch, and for a second, I see her—really see her—beneath the grief and the numbness.

“Tell me.”