Page 98 of You Owe Me

Lab. Right.

I know she’s lying, the same way I know my resting heart rate is sitting at 142 BPM and climbing every time I think about what she’s not telling me.

But I can’t call her on it.

Not when I’m about to disappear for three days with a story that’s 50 percent truth and 100 percent deception.

The door opens slowly. Quietly.

Ainsley steps inside, shoulders tight, sleeves pulled down over her fists. She doesn’t look at me right away. She just stands there like she’s not sure if I’ll still be here.

I should be mad.

I should be asking questions.

But I don’t.

Because the truth is, I’ve been lying, too.

She closes the door behind her gently, like the sound might crack the air between us even further.

I can’t stop looking at her.

Her face is flushed. Lips chewed raw. Her hair is a mess—windblown and falling out of a ponytail that suggests she’s been running her hands through it. And her eyes…

Her eyes are tired.

Like she’s been carrying something heavy and just now realized she can’t put it down.

The same weight I’ve been carrying since Dr. Patel said the word “ablation” and I started calculating how many lies it would take to keep everyone from knowing my heart is trying to quit on me.

“Hey,” I say, because it’s all I can manage.

She nods. Doesn’t speak.

The keys slip from her fingers and hit the counter with a clatter. She flinches at the sound, like it’s gunfire instead of metal on granite.

That’s when I know.

Whatever secret she’s keeping, it’s eating her alive.

Not that I’m any better. I’ve been running favors behind her back, building cover stories for medical procedures, pretending like the kingdom I’ve built isn’t cracking right under my feet while my heart decides to stage a revolt.

Jin’s voice from the other day still echoes: “She cashed in your favor.” No preamble. No explanation. Just those words, blunt and cold, confirming what I already suspected—Ainsley’s been playing in my world without understanding the rules.

Using my name. My reputation. My carefully constructed network of debts and obligations to get something she wanted badly enough to risk everything.

The smart play would be to confront her. Demand answers. Remind her that my system exists for a reason, that you don’tjust walk into someone’s operation and start collecting on debts that aren’t yours.

But I can’t.

Because I know why she did it. The same reason I’ve been planning surgical procedures in secret and building elaborate cover stories to keep her from worrying.

She’s protecting me.

From what, I don’t know. But the desperation in her movements, the way she’s been avoiding eye contact for days, the careful distance she’s been maintaining—it all points to someone trying to handle a threat she thinks I can’t survive knowing about.

The irony would be funny if it weren’t so fucking tragic.

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