Chapter 24
In a single second, a hundred thoughts implode, and with each one, I'm assessing the damage.
Is this about the children conversation? Did André sell us out? Did Richard see something? The "nonexistent" footage?
No. I swear I'd find a way to unlive myself.
"Are you... are you talking about us?" I stammer, walking to the kitchen.
"What?" he barks, and his eyes narrow on me. "What are you talking about?"
"What... what are you talking about?" I try to sound neutral.
He studies me for a beat.
Then something vital in him gives out right before my eyes. "We're fucked, that's what I mean."
I blink, the word landing like shrapnel.
Richard never swears. Not like this. Not unless the world is actually ending.
I take a step closer. "What?"
He paces around the kitchen island, fighting with his tie, almost strangling himself.
"Fifteen million. Gone. Fifteen fucking million.
And it's not just the money. This could—" He drags a hand down his face.
"This could ruin everything. Licenses. Lawsuits.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—prison." He kicks the barstool.
My eyes shoot wide. "Did you just say prison?"
"Yeah, I said fucking prison," he hisses.
I shake my head. Richard can't be behind bars; his face belongs in boardrooms and financial magazines.
"Richard, what the hell is going on?"
"Piper," he spits and drops onto the barstool he kicked. "That bastard set me up. Outplayed me..."
"What? How?"
His voice fades, eyes locked on some invisible guillotine in the distance. "Now there's nothing I can do. Not without losing everything."
I hover beside him before my hand settles between his shoulder blades. He's so tense, it feels like holding a live current.
"Set you up how?"
His elbows hit the counter as he buries his face in his palms. "Doesn't matter."
"Richard, you better tell me what happened—now!"
"Don't worry about it. I just need to cool down. John and Lewis—his partners—owe me. And before I rot in hell—" He straightens and his eyes turn lethal. "I'll skin him alive."
Chills spike along my spine because I'm no longer looking at my husband, but something glacial—corporate carnage Richard, who builds empires and buries enemies.
I've seen it before and it has always scared me because I don't know where the edge is.
"Have you done something illegal?" I ask with caution.
His head snaps at me. "Doesn't matter."
"It does matter!" I can't help but scream. "You never tell me anything! And now you're talking about going to prison!"
"I don't tell you because I don't want to burden you!" His voice rises too, as if he's offended. "Because you wouldn't understand. So don't ask questions—just be a wife and support me."
His hand finds mine as if that settles it, and he even softens in his face.
"I want to support you, but you have to tell me what's going on," I say.
"What you said about kids... you made me feel like I wasn't good enough for you. You... hurt me," he says instead.
My mouth goes slack, trying to find the right words. Then I just mutter, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"You really don't want to have my children?"
I look at him, absolutely torn, because everything in me screams to not add fire to his meltdown, but I can't pretend anymore.
"Actually, Richard—"
"Everything I do is always for you. I even moved here for you," he says sadly.
I tense. Okay, tonight he’s chosen revisionist history.
“We didn’t move because of me,” I remind him, trying to sound calm. “You wanted to move for work. You kept talking about it for six months, so don't put it on me."
He pulls his hand, scoffing like I've insulted him.
“We moved,” he drawls in that condescending cadence he saves for moments like this, “because Lydia was worried sick about you, and so was I. You were screaming in your sleep every night. Therapy wasn’t working.
You didn't even want to get out of bed. So I took the bullet—even though Elaine warned me it was career suicide. "
For a beat, I just stare at him because this is news to me, and the idea of the three of them discussing my mental health behind my back makes me feel sick.
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” I mutter dryly, finally.
“Because I knew you’d react like this,” he clips back. “Defensive. Distant.”
“Well, how would you feel if your closest people turned you into a checklist of symptoms? Something to be treated?” I snap.
Richard blows a long breath, a tired expression spreading over his face.
"How did we even get to that? It doesn't matter.
What matters is that I love you," he says, softening and taking my hand back.
"I'm sorry if I said anything mean at lunch.
I just want you to be happy. I know Lydia didn't give you the best childhood, but I'm trying to show you that love can be stable.
That we can be happy. That's why I proposed it. "
I swallow hard, unsure what to say to that.
Richard doesn't even know my mother—he knows only the older, curated version. But the fact that he's aware of my broken relationship with her and wants to make me happy makes me feel even worse.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, screen turned my way, so I glimpse about thirty unread messages, which is unheard of because he always clears them away.
I briefly catch one: Did you move it from the account?
"Richard, you should tell me what's happening," I say, my voice more firm than ever.
He flips the screen on the counter and looks at me heavily. "Em, I'm scared. This is the worst phase of my life."
The fact that he says scared rattles me because Richard doesn't do fear—he calculates, commands, and bulldozes.
Tonight fear has moved into his eyes, though, and it looks permanent.
I curl my arm around his shoulder and press a kiss against his hair. "I'm here. Tell me about Piper. Let me in."
He shakes his head. "No. I can't. Trust me. I'm doing this to protect you."
"But I should know as your—" Wife. I can't even say the word.
Richard notices and narrows his eyes, more thrown off than angry. "Do you love me?"
I swallow and give him a broken smile. "I do love you."
It's not a lie, because I do... in my own, fractured way. The jury would find me guilty, and I wouldn't even object, but still, I'd go to the gallows with this truth on my tongue that I love Richard.
Not like I love Ben—with wildfire that eats through marrow or the urgency to breathe in his skin.
I love Richard for the boy hidden beneath the armor who was never held and always keeps trying, even when it's easier to give up.
I drift toward the kettle to make a chamomile tea. Two white mugs and too little time to figure out what I'm going to do next.
When I slide the tea in front of him, he gives me a broken smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm weak."
"Don't say that," I say softly. "Sharing your feelings isn't weakness. It's the strongest I've ever seen you."
"Just don't leave me." He pulls me closer to him and exhales into my hair. "I need you, now more than ever. I need to fix this. You have to stand by my side, otherwise... I don't know what I'd do."
I freeze under his touch. Wish I had something to say that wasn't a lie, but everything in my mouth would be cruel, so I keep it trapped.
Because once upon a time, Richard was the one who caught me, and the least I can do is stay when he's finally asking for help.