Page 108 of It Must Be Fate

The vein looks like it’s going to explode out of his head now. Staring into his eyes, I see the moment he tips over into madness.

With a furious roar, he uses his forearms to sweep the contents of my desk to the ground.

Despite the violent outburst and the ensuing loud crash, my heart rate is still even.

That is, until I look down and see the framed picture of my family shattered on the floor. It’s a photo of Rogue and I and the kids from a day we spent at a county fair while we were on a trip in Cornwall. He’s standing, holding a pigtailed and smiling Rowan in his arms, and I’m crouching, gathering Rhodes, Riot and River in a group hug to my chest.

The boys are struggling to see who can be the closest to me and I’m laughing at how adorable their in-fighting is.

A stranger snapped the candid moment and then sent it to us.

I love that picture.

The glass is cracked in the middle, the spidering fissures reaching all the way across the edges of the frame, obscuring everyone’s face in the process.

Crouching, I reach for it, absentmindedly dusting off the glass like that’ll fix the problem.

“What’s going on here?”

Glancing up, I find Rogue in my doorway. His hands are buried casually in the pockets of his suit, his stance nonthreatening.

But his expression is black and his dead stare is pinned unflinchingly on the man who stands on the other side of the desk, his face still tomato red from screaming at me.

His eyes move slowly from Peter, to me, to the mess at my feet, taking in the scene with an expression that grows progressively darker and more volatile with everything he sees.

Finally, his gaze comes back to me. He watches me closely, getting a read on my brewing emotions. “You need me, sweetheart?”

I place the cracked frame back on my desk, returning it to its pride of place, and shake my head. “No, I can handle this.”

“Sounds good,” he purrs, going over to the couch that lines the left wall of my office. He drops onto it and lies down, casually crossing his ankles over the side of the armrest. “Tag me in if you change your mind.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Peter asks.

Rogue reaches into the breast pocket of his suit and brings out an energy bar. Lately, Rogue has been dropping the children off at the gym with Phoenix who’s teaching them martial arts, then going weightlifting while they train, so he’s eating more than ever. At thirty-four, my husband has never been more attractive. He’s grown into his body, his sinewy muscles rippling beneath his suit, and it’s all I can do but to openly stare.

Focus.

“Who am I? Oh, that’s easy.” He grins easily in response, a sharp smile full of teeth that would warn a man smarter than Peter to be careful, then tips his chin at me. “Her husband.” He unwraps the energy bar and takes a bite. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here as a casual observer to your public execution.” He waves a hand in my direction. “Proceed.”

“Peter,” I say, bringing his attention back to me. “Your sentencing is tomorrow. I suggest you go home, shower, eat an expensive cut of steak, and enjoy your last night breathing free air before they lock you up to rot in a dark hole for the next ten years. As tomorrow is the last day I’ll ever have to lay eyes on you again, there are a few things I’d like to say.” I round my desk, stepping over the discarded memorabilia from my desk until I come to stand before him. “You are a despicable,despicableman. I’ve never seen such a disproportionately sizedego to ability ratio in my life and that’s saying something considering I represent failed criminals for a living. Your lack of class is outmatched only by your total absence of intelligence. I’ve known rocks with more critical thinking skills than you, but even that will go over your head. You’ll walk into prison cloaked in your belief that your wealth and privilege make you superior to your fellow inmates and they’ll teach you a lesson for it that you won’t see coming.” I take a step closer.

Slowly, I drop my gaze down the length of his body, taking the measure of him and finding him woefully wanting.

My pointed perusal done, I lift my eyes back up to meet his. Over his shoulder, I catch Rogue grinning at me.

“You didn’t listen to my advice the last time I offered it, but maybe you will now. Don’t worry, this one’s on the house given your obvious financial issues. Are you ready?” I swipe a nonexistent piece of lint off his shoulder and look back up at him. “Learn how to make a shiv, you’re going to need it. The only thing inmates hate more than child abusers are wealthy white men who beat their wives.” Smiling politely, I add, “You belong in prison, Peter. I’m sad to add a loss to my record, but knowing you’ll be rubbing elbows with London’s finest murderersdoesfeel like a win.”

Peter is hardly breathing, the air remaining trapped inside him and puffing out his chest until he looks like he’s going to blow.

With a labored exhale, his words hiss out at me in a venomous explosion. “You fuckingcunt.”

Spittle flies from his lips and hits my cheeks.

A tired sigh comes from over his shoulder. Rogue stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he shakes his head.

“See, now you’ve crossed the line.”

“Rogue—”

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