Page 166 of Hate You More

“What time did you get in?” Like I don’t already know. Like I’m setting a trap.

“After eleven, I think.”

“Wow. Long day.” Because obviously, I wasn’t waiting for you to come home, watching the clock on my phone. I take another scalding sip as I wonder how we’ve been reduced to this. From passion and honesty to fake pleasantries and stilted conversation.

“And the same today,” he says. “Meeting after meeting.”

“Really?” I allow myself to look at him in his T-shirt and jeans. Oh, what do I care? More than I should, apparently.

“Yeah. I’d better get my laptop. And the Tylenol.” The stool squeaks a protest against the floor as he moves.

“Thank you,” I murmur as he slips by me.

As his footsteps draw away, his phone vibrates against the marble, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

I stare at his phone. I shouldn’t look. I’m not the kind of person who snoops. Ordinarily. But the second time it chimes is a temptation too much, or maybe it’s more than something whispers I ought to see. Whatever the reason, my heart hammers with the wrongness as I swipe it up.

The screen is already lit; Troy doesn’t use a security code. He doesn’t even bother with a cover.

He has new voice messages from Max.

I press play.

“Well, looks like you were right—the old bastard wasn’t bluffing. I spoke to my contact at the SEC last night, and she confirmed it. There’ve been rumors in the building, though there’s no official word yet. But she says once they pull the plug, we’re probably looking at days before they’re crawling all over the office. He’s leveraging this through the back channels.” Max gives a huff of an unhappy laugh. “Looks like I’m not the only one with friends in low places.”

There follows a pause, the low murmur of voices nearby. The scuffling of shoe leather as though Max turns from the sound. I’m only half aware of these tiny insights as my mind begins to whir. An investigation by the regulators? I thought . . . I thought our marriage was supposed to be insurance against those risks. Alarm bells begin to ring, my body seeming to intuit what this is before my head does.

“Fucking Forbes,” he grates out, his voice low and harsh.

I roll in my lips to stifle my own curse.

“From a business standpoint, we need to move fast. Eliminate the vulnerability before they formalize things.” A shard of glass pierces my chest. With my dad’s involvement, the only vulnerability could be me. “But Troy? Whichever choice you make, you know it’s gonna—”

I hear Troy’s footsteps. I end the playback and quickly mark the message as unread. I put his phone down and, for a second, I don’t breathe, my body and my brain cycling through a hundred different emotions, a million different thoughts.

I must’ve been a wicked, wicked soul in a past life to deserve a father like this.

He wants to ruin Troy. Why? Because I married him. Because I broke away. I spoiled his plans. I was naive to think he wouldn’t use Troy to get to me. He wants to make sure I’m all alone.

And I will be, because Troy will never sacrifice his company. He shouldn’t have to.

As my temporary husband enters the kitchen, I pick up my coffee cup with shaking hands and bury my nose in it.

This is classic Edwin Forbes. Stealth ruination where he won’t leave his fingerprints.

Poor Troy. Caught in the middle again as the past repeats itself.

Chapter 47

Clara

Past

The party is over.

There are still cars in the driveway and the odd drunken voice drifts through the gardens. But the music has stopped and the air has cooled, the festivities are over for another year. Thank God.

Troy has gone home after an evening of trying his best. His best smiles. His best teases. His best effort to persuade me that my dad’s behavior didn’t mean a thing to him.