Page 35 of Filthy Lies

The accusation sizzles between us. He waits to see if I’ll take the bait.

But I only take another sip of water as I let the silence stretch to its breaking point.

“Are we done?” I ask finally.

“For now.” He closes his folder. “I’ll be in touch if I have more questions.”

“I’m sure you will.”

As I stand to leave, he makes one final comment. “Just remember, Mrs. Akopov—the company you keep defines you. In the eyes of the law, there’s very little difference between a criminal and someone who knowingly benefits from criminal activity. Lie down with the dogs and get fleas, as they say.” He tucks his folder under his arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Vince is waiting in the car. “How did it go?”

“About as well as we expected.” I sink into the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. “He doesn’t believe I’m just an innocent bystander.”

“You’re not,” Vince says bluntly. “Not anymore.”

His words echo Carver’s too closely for comfort. I turn to look out the window as the city slides by, glass and steel melting into streaks of dark and light.

“Is that what I am now?” I ask quietly. “A criminal by association?”

Vince’s hand finds mine, his grip firm. “You’re the mother of my child. My wife. My partner. Whatever label the world wants to put on that is their problem, not ours.”

“But itisour problem.” I face him again. “Carver all but said I could be charged as an accomplice if he builds a case against you.”

“He’s trying to scare you.”

“It’s working.”

Vince doesn’t look at me, but I see how his knuckles flex on the steering wheel. “Tell me what you’re really worried about, Rowan.”

Question of the fucking year. WhatamI worried about? Not prison—that seems almost abstract compared to what we’ve already faced. Certainly not social stigma or public opinion.

“I’m worried about who I’m becoming,” I admit finally. “The woman who sat across from Carver today and lied by omission… She isn’t who I thought I’d be.”

“She’sstrongerthan you thought you could be,” Vince counters.

“But is she still a good person?”

Vince doesn’t answer immediately, which I appreciate. A pat reassurance would ring false right now. I’ve had enough gilded lies for a lifetime, thank you very much.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are luxuries for people who’ve never had to fight for survival. They’re fairy tales we tell people whose morality has never been tested by having a gun to their head—or worse, a gun to their child’s head.”

He turns to look at me, his eyes bright blue and searingly honest.

“You protected our daughter when I couldn’t. You survived when many wouldn’t have. And now, you’re doing what needs to be done to keep our family safe. If that’s not ‘good,’ then fuck being good. I don’t want it.”

A laugh escapes me—quiet and tired, but genuine. “Ever the philosopher.”

His thumb strokes my palm. “I’m serious, Rowan. I’ve spent my life doing things most people would consider unforgivable. I’ve never claimed to be good. But you…” His voice softens. “You make me want to be better. And watching you navigate this impossible situation with such grace… it humbles me.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I don’t feel graceful. I feel like I’m stumbling in the dark.”

“We both are.” He squeezes my fingers. “The difference is, I’m used to the dark. You’re still learning how to see in it.”

The car pulls up to our secure compound. Through the window, I can see the gardens, the high walls, the armed guards.

Our beautiful prison. Our necessary sanctuary.

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