“I—”
“Just admit that you tricked me,” he snarled. “Even after I proposed, you were planning on killing me.”
Not a question. He’d heard her confession.
Her eyes shuttered, and pain flashed across her countenance.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Hearing her tell Victor everything had been painful enough, but this felt worse. Deeper. More fucking personal.
His nostrils flared, and he shook his head.
This entire situation was so fucked up.
“Thank you for not dancing around your answer,” Ryker said, his voice as hard as the marble beneath his fingers. “It seems you can tell the truth… sometimes.”
But not when it mattered. Not when it came to them.
Her gaze dropped, and she traced a line down one of the empty bags. “I didn’t… Not everything was a lie, Ryker.”
Hearing her speak his name used to bring him joy, but now it just caused twin cords of hurt and anger to twist through him.
“But you did lie.” The words came out harsh and cold, like the ice he wished he could freeze in place around his broken heart.
Silver lined her eyes as she opened and closed her mouth.
The lack of denial was admission enough.
“I don’t want to do this right now.” He picked up his coffee, his movements so jerky that the liquid splashed over the side. He wiped the mess with a rag before throwing it in the sink. “Are you still hungry?”
A long moment passed before she said, “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for the blood. You didn’t… have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of this.” She fiddled with her sleeve. “You could’ve… but you didn’t. So, thank you.”
Ryker didn’t want her gratitude. He didn’t want to be her jailer. He didn’t want to be risking his job for this ridiculous plan.
By the gods, he didn’t want any of this.
He wanted a wife that he could love, a life partner, the woman he’d Chosen. For a few days, he’d had that, and it had been fucking good.
Now, it was gone. Destroyed. They were reduced to this. Whatever it was.
Grunting, Ryker strode past Brynleigh, making sure not to touch her. He couldn’t deal with that right now.
The living room wasn’t exactly filled with furniture. Other than the couch where he’d slept, there were two uncomfortable-looking armchairs and a circular blue rug that had seen better days.
Choosing an inevitable sore back rather than dealing with the awkwardness of sitting beside Brynleigh, Ryker settled into the armchair on the right. Keeping his feet flat on the ground, he pulled the small black box out of his back pocket as she approached him.
She sat in the other armchair, her hair covering her face as she stared at the floor.
Awkwardness settled over them both, and minutes dragged on in terrible silence.
Every beat of Ryker’s heart was too loud, and every breath was too disruptive. The ring on his left hand was the heaviest of weights. He wasn’t sure why he still wore it, but it felt like it was dragging him into the ground.
Maybe he should have asked Nikhail to stay. Maybe he should’ve let his anger out. Maybe he never should’ve made the deal.