Page 58 of Blind Prophet

“I bet you wish I’d kept my thoughts to myself now.”

CHAPTER13

DORIAN

“You’d marry me all over again?”

I don’t need to see her face to read into her quiet, uncertain tone. I’m probably her biggest regret.

“Dorian, our marriage?—”

“I’m not saying there aren’t things I would change.” She has to know that. No one wants to endure the death of a relationship.

“Like what?”

There’s no harm in telling her. It’s what I’ve wanted to tell her for years. With an exhale, I lay it out there.

“For one, I would’ve never let you go.”

The words come out with none of the precision I use in the boardroom. This isn’t a business negotiation—it’s the raw truth I’ve avoided for years. The kind of vulnerability that has no place in the world of high finance and global telecommunications.

She slowly lifts from my chest, those questioning blue eyes taking me in. My gaze drops to her soft, full lips.

I inch closer, eyes locked on hers.

My breath grows shallow—the world blurs.

She shakes her head, the back-and-forth motion hitting like a submerged boulder in white water rapids. I should’ve seen it coming by the flow of the water, yet it’s a painful shock all the same.

Her fingers press on my clavicle, pushing me away.

I force myself to swallow and cover her fingers with mine.

“I did what was best for us,” she pleads.

She’s sincere. I see it in her expression.

“Do you really believe that?” The only way that’s true is if we had continued sliding downhill into an abyss. It’s only true if we had no fix.

“No.” She pushes back, putting more distance between us, and the chilly air fills the divide. “I did what was best for me. I was… I lost myself.”

A memory surfaces. A rolling rack of dresses.

“Your father sent these.”

She’d sounded angry.

“He asked that I wear Marilyn-approved dresses when I attend public functions.”

“She’s his publicist.”

“I think she’s more than that.”

I understood what she was implying, but I also didn’t care. “He doesn’t do single well.”

She looked at the rack of dresses with disdain. I flicked through the envelopes stacked on the counter. If she had an assistant like I requested she hire, there wouldn’t be mail in the house.

“If you don’t like them, don’t wear them.” I didn’t care what she wore, and I didn’t care about pleasing my father’s most recent conquest, either. What I did care about was my father questioning if I had the bandwidth to launch a new company and hold my place on the board.

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