“No. It was our home. Then you declared me dead.”
He looked thinner. Not regretful, exactly. More like a gambler who had lost on a technicality.
“We need to talk.”
“Through lawyers.”
“Maya, don’t be dramatic.”
That word.
After everything, he still reached for the smallest knife.
I opened the door wider but kept the chain on.
“Dramatic is faking widowhood to marry an heiress in a stolen veil.”
His eyes darted down the hall.
“Keep your voice down.”
“No.”
“Maya, I lost everything.”
I stared at him.
There are sentences that reveal a person completely.
Not I hurt you.
Not I confused our son.
Not I am sorry.
I lost everything.
I said, “You lost what you tried to steal.”
His face hardened.
“You think you’re going to come out of this clean? I can make custody ugly.”
A coldness moved through me.
There was the man behind the charm.
“Try,” I said. “I have proof you lied about your child’s existence to secure a business merger. I have proof you stole intellectual property. I have proof you attempted to enter a second marriage under a false identity while still legally married. Do you really want a family court judge reading that?”
