Page 58 of The Marriage Blunder

This time, the laugh was all teeth. “Jake pays him, Kenneth. That’s your answer.”

I absorbed that. Noted the shift in the power grid. “I’ll send you the rest.”

He grew serious. “Is this about Carolyn?”

“Yes,” I said, and let the word hang. “It’s not just her. There’s a woman named Mercer running a parallel operation, and a man on my board with a back channel to the inside. Voss. I suspect she’s coordinating with him, maybe others.”

Alejandro grunted. “You always did pick the ambitious ones.”

I ignored that. “You’ll be at the formal wedding next quarter?”

“I never miss a party,” he said, but it was code for: I’ll be there if you need muscle. He always had been, and always would be.

I thought I heard another voice in the background, too low to parse, but with the register of a man not used to waiting for permission. “Anything else?” Alejandro asked.

“I need you to keep this quiet. No chatter, no leaks. If it goes public, I lose the advantage.”

He said, “Understood,” then ended the call.

I let the phone go dark. The silence in the entryway was so total I could hear my own breath, steady and intentional, the way it gets before a deal closes or a fight breaks.

Jude was still there, not moving. He was watching me the way a man watches an expensive piece of art he isn’t sure he deserves to own.

I looked at him for a long time. Then, voice softer than I meant, I said, “You’re moving in.”

His eyebrow did the thing. Not a question, not a protest, just a line under the text.

I added, “Please.”

He held my gaze for a second. Two. The flicker of something in his eyes—fear, maybe, or just a lifetime’s worth of habits dying slow, unnatural deaths. Then, “Fine.”

Neither of us pretended it was about logistics. Neither of us filled the gap with noise.

I reached out and took his wrist, thumb circling the pulse there. Not a grip, just an anchor. He stood still, arm loose in my hand, glasses fogged from the difference in our body temperatures.

I said, “Adams will prep the penthouse. You can have the guest room to store your stuff until you get unpacked. Change anything you don’t like.”

He said, “It’s your call.”

I let the phone drop onto the sideboard, where it landed with a soft, definitive click.

Jude exhaled, slow, and then looked up at the ceiling, then back at me. “You don’t have to do all this.”

I said, “Yes, I do.”

He shrugged, but the look on his face was less resignation than relief.

We walked through the penthouse, past the darkened kitchen, past the study where the light was already coming on and the heat from the fireplace was just starting to bleed into the room. I led him to the master suite, opened the door, and let him in. The bed was already turned down, the lights dimmed to exactly the level he liked.

I said, “You’re safe.”

He nodded. “I know.”

I went back to the entryway. The phone on the sideboard glowed with a new message, this time from an encrypted number I didn’t recognize. I opened it.

The words were simple, but they had gravity: WE HAVE YOUR HUSBAND COVERED. The confidence of that statement made the air taste different.

I locked the phone, looked out at the city, and let myself feel, for the first time in weeks, that we might actually win.