“What about the baby?” I ask, my voice low, controlled, but barely.
Lucy pauses at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looks back at me. “How do you even know it’s yours?” she asks. “Wynter was out partying a lot,” she continues, her tone edged with something bitter. “Drinking heavily most nights after she left you. I’m praying to God it was nothing more than a one-night mistake.”
Slapping me would have hurt less. “Wynter isn’t like that,” I snap, feeling the urge to protect her reputation.
She turns sharply, eyes blazing. “And how the hell would you know?” she fires back. “You knew her for what, five minutes? You don’t get to decide who she is after everything you put her through.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” I warn.
Her expression shifts to disbelief, then anger. “Is that a threat?” she asks, stepping closer instead of backing down. “You might be someone important around here, with your fancy suits and your dick extension apartment with the city view, but let me make one thing very clear.” Her voice drops. “You don’t scare me.” The lift dings open behind her. “And I would fight anyone—anyone—to keep you away from her.”
She steps inside, then stops the doors from closing with her hand. “She didn’t love you, Ray.” She smirks, and I know her next words will be a hard blow. “I found her at Josh’s grave,” she continues, quieter now but no less brutal. “Crying. Holding a bottle of pills like she was about to end it.” Something twists in my chest. “She wanted to be with him,” Lucy says. “Not you.”
The doors slide shut, and I’m left standing there.
With nothing but the echo of it.
Catherine lets out a slow breath. “Well, that was unexpected.”
I don’t answer straight away. I just stand there, staring at the empty space she left behind.
“I didn’t ask how she was,” I say eventually, my voice quieter. “Not once. After everything that happened, I didn’t even think to ask.” The words sit heavy in my chest. “I kicked her out,” I add. “Blamed her for everything because it was easier than looking at myself.”
Catherine watches me carefully. “You were grieving too,” she says gently.
I shake my head. “It’s been five months, Catherine,” I mutter. “Grief doesn’t give me the right to destroy someone else.” I drag a hand down my face. “I’ve been a complete bastard.”
She doesn’t bother to argue. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
It turns out Wynter is staying at a private clinic in London. Soho to be exact. I’m secretly impressed that no expense has been spared. The place is discreet, with top doctors and therapists.
I sit in the car longer than I should, staring up at the building like it might swallow me whole if I step inside.
I’ve faced men with guns. Watched people beg for their lives. None of that ever made me hesitate like this. Because this . . . this matters. And I don’t know how it ends. I have no control.
I drag a hand down my face, push the door open, and force myself out.
The receptionist already knows my name. I called to make sure I could visit. I expected resistance and more questions, or even a flat-out no, but it’s almost like they expected me to call.
I’m guided down a quiet corridor and shown into a small, neutral room. Beige walls. Two chairs. A table. Nothing personal or comforting.
I don’t sit straight away, I pace. Then I force myself into the chair, pressing elbows on my knees, and staring at the floor like I can somehow prepare for this.
The door opens, and I stand instantly.
He walks in, and I know right away who it is. He’s got the same eyes as Wynter. The same shape to his face.
But where she’s soft . . .
He’s not.
“No need to be formal,” he mutters, glancing at my outstretched hand but not taking it. I drop it, trying not to let it get to me.
“Mr. Lee,” I start, my voice rougher than I expect. “I’m sorry we’re only meeting like this.”
For the first time in a long time, I feel out of my depth. He studies me for a second too long, then takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same.
“I’m not as unhinged as my sister,” he says dryly. “But she’s not wrong to be protective of Wynter. Her coming to see you like she did, it’s because she feels out of her depth. Seeing you is her way of trying to help. She thinks it might help Wynter’s recovery if you just clear the air.”