Chapter 2 - MY FIANCÉE HAD BEEN PLANNING MY FUNERAL WITHOUT A BODY
Arya did not sit.
“I was protecting you.”
Those words should be banned from the mouths of people about to explain betrayal.
“From what?”
“Stress.”
I almost laughed.
“You told a court I'm cognitively impaired.”
“Temporarily.”
“My spine is injured, Arya. Not my brain.”
“You've been depressed.”
“I got shot.”
“You've become angry.”
“I got shot.”
“You barely leave this room.”
“I. Got. Shot.”
She flinched.
Good.
Then I asked:
“Why does Dominic need my harbor signature?”
Silence.
“Arya.”
“It has nothing to do with this.”
“Then answering should be easy.”
She looked away.
I called Hector.
He entered carrying a folder.
Arya’s face changed.
Hector had spent twenty-two years protecting my family.
He placed the folder on my lap.
“The harbor property is worth approximately forty-eight million more than the proposed sale price.”
I looked at Arya.
“Who is buying it?”
Hector answered.
“A holding company incorporated six weeks ago.”
“Beneficial owner?”
“We're tracing it.”
I already knew.
“Dominic.”
Arya said nothing.
That hurt more than confirmation.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Her head snapped toward me.
“No.”
I believed her.
Strangely, that didn't make things much better.
“Then what?”
Arya began crying.
“I'm scared.”
Finally.
Something real.
She sat.
“When you were shot, everything changed.”
“Yes.”
“Dominic said the organization was becoming unstable. People were asking questions. Contracts were slipping. He said if you couldn't return—”
“Couldn't?”
Her eyes dropped toward my legs.
There it was again.
The funeral without a body.
I removed my engagement ring from the chain around my neck.
I'd worn it there because swollen fingers after surgery had made jewelry uncomfortable.
I placed it on the table.
Arya stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Canceling the wedding.”
“Vincent.”
“You already did.”
She cried harder.
“I love you.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at her.
“But you stopped believing I was still in here.”
I tapped my chest.
“That happened before you filed the petition.”
She had no answer.
I asked Hector to escort her out.
She packed that evening.
Tessa remained silent until Arya's car disappeared through the gates.
Then she entered my room carrying soup.
“What?”
I asked.
“You haven't eaten.”
“My engagement ended two hours ago.”
“Your digestive system remains operational.”
I stared at her.
“You have terrible bedside manner.”
“Twenty-five dollars an hour.”
“Right.”
She set down the tray.
Then I noticed her hands trembling.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Tessa.”
She looked exhausted.
Not ordinary tiredness.
Something deeper.
“When did you last sleep?”
“Tuesday.”
“It’s Friday.”
“I slept.”
“How much?”
She shrugged.
“Four hours here and there.”
“Why?”
“My sister.”
The medical bills.
I remembered.
“What does she have?”
Tessa stiffened.
Then quietly:
“Kidney failure.”
That silenced me.
“She needs dialysis three times a week. I work here during the day and another care job twice a week overnight.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She looked almost offended.
“Why would I?”
I realized how absurd the question was.
Because everyone around me told me everything.
Because my money had trained me to expect access to other people's problems.
Tessa was different.
I knew almost nothing about her.
Yet she had been the only person willing to risk her job because she believed I deserved the truth.
That evening I called the agency.
Not to pay her sister's bills.
Tessa would have hated that.
I did something simpler.
I increased the hourly rate I paid the agency.
With one condition.
Every additional dollar went directly to the employee.
The next morning, Tessa stormed into my room.
“You doubled my salary.”
“Good morning.”
“I don't accept charity.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then what is this?”
“Market correction.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've heard.”
She stared.
Then:
“Thank you.”
It was barely audible.
May you like
I pretended not to notice.
She appreciated that too.
