He coiled into himself in my arms. I shook my head briskly.

“Nonsense. I want you to remember something very important, okay, boys? Something I want you to carry with you everywhere, no matter where you go, like the necklace I gave you.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs. I put Tinder back on the floor and crouched to their eye level.

They nodded, their big, innocent eyes clinging to my face.

“Whenever Daddy loses his temper and yells at you, it’s not your fault. We are not responsible for other people’s actions. Only for our own. That is not to say we are never wrong. It is our job to try to do our best to become better and always hold ourselves accountable for our own actions. But never blame yourself for what Daddy or Mommy is doing, okay? Promise me.”

“Scout’s honor!” Tree put two fingers up.

“I-I promise, too!” Tinder jumped.

My heart rattled in my chest like a rusty, empty cage full of feelings I didn’t want to face.

The family I was trying to build was a threat to these children.

And their parents were a threat to mine.

But I couldn’t turn my back on them.

Not anymore.

I dropped my half-full duffel bag to the floor, scowling at Petar.

“Really, dude? You promised he wouldn’t be here.”

The sound of the front door being thrown open was enough indication my husband walked into the house even though I’d specifically called Petar to make sure the coast would be clear so I could pick up the small stuff I’d left here and move it back to my apartment.

Petar hitched a shoulder up helplessly.

“He wasn’t supposed to come until ten or eleven, I swear. Ever since you left the house, he’s only come here to sleep. Sometimes not even that. Three times I had to send a courier to the office with a new set of suits for him this week.”

Though it was tempting to feel bad for Kill, I pushed the emotion out of my heart.

I threw the duffel bag on my bed, stuffing the knickknacks I’d forgotten in my haste to leave two weeks ago.

“Where is she?” I heard Cillian’s rumble from downstairs. Petar did the sign of the cross, looked up, and dashed out of my room. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where I was, so I left the question hanging unanswered.

Sure enough, not five seconds later, Cillian was standing at my bedroom door, dark and surly as Hades holding uneaten pomegranates.

“Back so early?” I huffed, stuffing one of my one hundred thousand flowery self-help journals into my bag. “What would Daddy say? I thought you were born to work.”

He walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I made idle conversation, knowing how much he loathed it.

“Shouldn’t you be living with your husband?” he shot back.

“No,” I said evenly, zipping the bloated bag, tugging at the stuck zipper. “You spent the past few months cementing the fact that we aren’t a real couple. All I’m doing is finally listening to you. You did a great job convincing me we’re nothing more than a contract.”

I avoided looking at him directly. The hornet-sting that came with laying my eyes on his magnificence was too much on a normal day, and completely unmanageable when we were estranged.

A stranger or an ally, Cillian always had the talent to make my heart sing and my soul weep.

For a long beat, he just stood there, drinking me in.

He took a step forward, putting a hand on my arm.

I wanted to break down and cry.

To tell him what I saw Andrew do.

To confess I couldn’t eat or sleep well.

“I told Sam to pull the surveillance,” he said.

I looked up at him, through a curtain of unshed tears.

“And?”

“And I haven’t touched anyone since I put a ring on your goddamn finger.” His lips barely moved, his jaw was so tight.

“And?” I arched an eyebrow.

Give me an emotion.

Any emotion.

“And I shouldn’t have broken the contract,” he said gruffly, looking away from me. “I trust you.”

“Bullshit,” I choked on a dry laugh.

He said nothing.

I was beginning to see nothing I could say or do was going to change his mind about people. About me. He was incapable of feelings and pushing him to love me would achieve nothing other than to make him resent me. Even now, he didn’t want me because he liked me.

Only because I was a comfortable arrangement. A means to an end.

“You’re not leaving,” he said simply.

I pulled the bag, hoisting it over my shoulder and turning to face him.

“I’m sorry.”

He stepped toward me, snarling.

“Sorry for what?”

“For changing the rules on you. For breaking the contract. For asking for more. I realize that I was out of line. I want you to marry someone who gives you what you want. Who is happy with what you’re willing to give back. And I’m not that person. I meant what I said. As soon as your legal/PR issues are over and everything quiets down, we can get a divorce.”

I sidestepped him, but he matched my step, getting in my face again.

“All this because of one mistake?” He scowled. “I already told you I haven’t touched anyone else. You were watched exactly one week, Persephone.”

I threw my head back, laughing. “You think that’s the only problem? One mistake? Get real, Kill. You never treated me as your wife. Never spent the entire night in my bed. Never took me on one date that wasn’t a fancy event. No honeymoon. No meaningful conversation. I was never your equal. The only thing that’s changed is that now, I finally realize I never will be.”

His eyes thundered. I bet his precious pulse was skyrocketing. I didn’t think he realized I even knew about it. How he put his fingers to his wrist discreetly to keep himself in check.

How he cracked his knuckles every time he got ruffled.

“I dined with you every evening. I fucked you every night. I took you to balls. To family dinners. I bought you jewelry. What more do you want from me, Persephone?”

“A relationship.” I hurled the duffel bag on the floor, growling.

“I don’t know how to have one!” he screamed back in my face.

Kill began to pace, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what that even means. I never had a relationship. You request something, and I make it happen. Is that not what a relationship is about?”

How could I even answer that question without sounding like a complete bitch?

“How did you know I was here?” I asked.

“This house is wired more than a police informant in a bad cop show.” He rolled his eyes, stopping to examine me.

“So you left everything and came here?”

He parked a hand on his waist. “You talk like I don’t give a damn.”

“You don’t.”

“Well, newsflash.” He took a step forward, plastering me to the wall, his hand coming to the back of my neck, grabbing it as he tilted his head down. “I do. I’m not fucking happy about it, to be sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

It was everything I’d wanted to hear since the day I met Cillian Fitzpatrick, yet at that moment, it was too late.