Page 128 of Money Reigns
I open my phone. Nothing. No message. No calendar change.
Twenty-eight.
I lean closer to the screen, eyes glued to the hallway.
Thirty.
The door opens.
She walks out, polished and perfect, phone in hand, no lipstick smudged, no dress askew. She smiles at someone down the hall. Hair still intact. Nothing on her face to betray anything.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because my brain doesn’t care about evidence.
My brain only cares about the way her hand brushed the doorknob, the way her head probably tilted back in a laugh I couldn’t hear, the way Warrendidn’t tell meshe’d be here.
I’m already sure.
I barely notice when Warren appears in my doorway.
“You okay?” he asks, brow furrowing. “You look sick. Are you feeling alright?”
I look up.
He looks the same.
Pressed shirt. Belt buckled. Nothing out of place.
But he has a bathroom in his office.
One he cleans me in.
And probably her.
I swallow the panic clawing its way up my throat.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”
He tilts his head. Doesn’t believe me.
But he doesn’t press.
“Come on,” he says instead. “It’s time for lunch. We’ll talk about whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”
He walks away.
And I follow.
But inside?
I’m unraveling.
***
The food tastes like sand.
I stab at the salad, force a bite past the knot in my throat, chew until my jaw aches. Every swallow burns, like it has to claw its way down. Warren talks, his voice low and smooth, but I can’t hear a damn thing.
