Every message to Ben flashes in my mind—hundreds of them, some of them explicit. I'd rather die before he sees it.
"No. That's private." My voice is sterner than I expect andI clutch my phone in my pocket to make sure he doesn't snatch it, even though I changed my passcode months ago.
"Private?" His brow lifts. "Between husband and wife?"
"Yes, private," I say, clipped. "I don't read yours."
Richard pulls his phone from his sweats and puts it in my hand. "There. You can read whatever you want. I have nothing to hide."
"I don't need to read anything," I say, slapping it back into his hand and trying to sidestep and head for the kitchen, but he blocks me in the doorway.
"Let me go." I push on him, trying to squeeze in, but he just stands there, immovable. I glare. "Richard! What the hell got into you?!Let me go!"
I shove at him, hard enough to make space, and force myself through the door.
My cheek stings from where I scraped it against his wool sweater, but the burn on my skin is nothing compared to the heat flaring behind my teeth.
I stomp across the room, heading for my office to lock myself in. Breathe. Think of something.
Then his voice comes from behind me, lower than I've ever heard it: "You think I don't know you're texting him all day?"
I freeze mid-step, every hair on my neck spiking.
I turn slowly. "What do you mean?"
He's standing at the kitchen island, arms crossed, jaw locked, and his eyes—pure winter.
"Ben Bellini." He spits his name like it's a death sentence he's already signed.
28
Richard shuts off the main light.
Maybe it's his tactic to intimidate me; the under-counter LEDs cast him in that cold kitchen glow that sharpens his jaw, his posture, and his anger.
He stands there, letting the words hang, and for a moment I'm just trying to just catch my breath.
When my voice comes out, it's barely there: "You track my records?"
"I track everything," he says flatly. "Especially when someone starts lying to me."
My mouth goes slack. I don't know what to say, apart from maybe this is the moment I should finally stop lying.
"Richard, I'm sorry. I know this looks bad—it is really bad—but I want to tell you everything," I say desperately.
He takes one step forward toward me. "Let me make something very, very clear. Whatever phase you're in, it ends today." Another step. "You are my wife. Act like it."
My brain stalls. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me," he says—flat and infallible. "Your little affair ends today. You won't ever see him again."
My pulse spikes and I curl my fist. "You don't get to tell me if I see him or not!"
He pauses, smiling to himself. "Do you know what I can do to him, Emma? One call, and his career's gone. I know peopleon the hospital board, the medical council. You think I'd let someone humiliate me and walk away unscathed? I'm seriously considering destroying him. But... I might think twice if you get sensible."
"Stop it, Richard," I say instantly, scowling at him. "This has nothing to do with Ben. It's my fault. I... I seduced him."
Richard flinches, then looks at me with pure disgust, his nostrils flaring.
