He took a step forward, and Kane’s voice cut in, calm and deadly.
“Don’t.”
Randy’s gaze flicked to Kane for the first time like he was noticing him properly.
“And you are?” he demanded.
“Not your concern,” Kane replied.
That only seemed to agitate him further.
“I wasn’t blind,” Randy snapped, refocusing on me. “I knew she didn’t want me. I knew she was … withholding.”
His mouth twisted.
“But I handled it.”
The words came out with an ugly pride.
“I’m a grown man. I have needs. I took care of them. Strip clubs. Escorts. You think I was going to beg my own wife?”
The room felt colder.
Sabine’s humming faltered, then resumed.
“I didn’t humiliate her,” he continued defensively. “I didn’t throw it in her face. I kept it quiet. Discreet. That’s what adults do.”
That’s what adults do.
My stomach turned.
“You think that’s love?” I asked softly.
His eyes flared.
“I provided,” he shot back. “Do you have any idea what my job requires? The hours? The pressure? I built our life. I built our future.”
“And she built a second one,” I said.
The words hit.
His entire face contorted.
“You think I don’t know that?” he shouted.
Sabine flinched.
The sound was small, but it split me open.
“Lower your voice,” Kane said, tone even.
Randy’s hand shook harder now.
“I started checking,” he continued, almost talking to himself. “Credit cards. Travel receipts. Phone logs. I thought she was having an affair.”
His gaze burned into me.
“I never imagined she was playing house in Paris.”
