“They were never planning to extract,” she says quietly. “The window was a formality.”
My pulse starts pounding in my ears.
“And me?”
She hesitates.
I see it.
“And me,” I repeat.
“You were listed as executor.”
The room tilts.
I grip the edge of the table.
“They were testing you,” she continues. “Compliance. Discretion. Willingness.”
A harsh laugh tears out of me.
“They were going to turn me into a weapon and see if I noticed.”
“Yes.”
I stare at the floor.
“You knew,” I say. “Before I ever set foot on that plane.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
My voice drops.
“Why?”
She lifts her head.
“Because if you’d refused, they would have destroyed you.”
“That wasn’t your call.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I loved you.”
The words land without armor.
Without hesitation.
Without apology.
The room goes completely still.
