Page 160 of The Wright Man

"Of course," I said quickly, waving off the concern like it didn't matter. I definitely won't be needing one. Not for this visit.

She gave me his room number—607—and sent me on my way with another smile and a "Good luck!" that felt entirely too loaded. I nodded my thanks and turned toward the elevator, legs feeling heavier with every step I took.

Each ding of the elevator felt like it was counting down to something I couldn't take back.

Sixth floor. I stepped out into a hallway lined with thick, plush carpet and art pieces that probably cost more than my mortgage. I moved toward the door slowly, like I was approaching the edge of a cliff.

Room 607.

I stopped in front of it, heart thrumming like it was trying to escape my chest. My palms were clammy, my legs were trembling just enough to notice, and my thoughts started to spiral again.

I can't believe I'm doing this. How am I doing this. I can't do this.

I can't do this.

I stared at the door like it might explode.

But then, like a balm on raw skin, I heard Maleek's voice in my mind. Calm. Steady. Unshakable.

You're strong, Angelica.

I closed my eyes and took a breath. One deep inhale through the nose, one long exhale through the mouth.

I could do this.

No more pretending. No more shrinking.

I raised my hand and knocked.

Three times. Firm. Final.

Gavin answered the door shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of wrinkled navy pajama pants like he was lounging on a Saturday morning—not on a work trip. No button-down. No lanyard badge from some fake-ass conference. No signs of spreadsheets or sales calls. Just bare skin, bedhead, and that same blank-ass expression he always wore when shit was about to hit the fan and he didn't want to catch any.

He froze the second he saw me.

"Angie—"

I lifted a hand. "Gavin, please just listen."

And then I said it. All of it. Everything that had been building in my throat for hours, days, years. It poured out like water breaking through a dam, and once it started, I couldn't stop.

"I kissed Maleek."

His eyes twitched, like he was trying to decide which emotion to land on. I didn't give him the chance.

"I shouldn't have. I was wrong for it. I know I was married—I am married—and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that what I did was okay."

I swallowed. My voice wavered, but I stayed standing.

"But I'm not sorry."

He blinked.

"I don't want to be married to you anymore."

His brows pulled together. I pressed on, breath hitching between sentences, but the truth felt too good to stop.

"I'm not happy. I haven't been. Not for a long time. You don't value me, Gavin. You don't respect me. You damn sure don't love me. And the worst part is, I don't think you ever really did."