Chapter 93 #11: Do You Still Love Him
Lucy kicks off her sneakers the moment we cross the threshold, leaving them in a haphazard pile by the coat closet. She’s already halfway down the hall before I can remind her to hang her coat.
“Daddy!” she calls, sprinting toward him with her arms wide.
Vincent is in the living room, scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up when he hears Lucy’s footsteps and his face softens the way it always does for her.
“There’s my girl.” He sets the phone down. “How was the office adventure?”
Lucy launches herself at him. “I made a new friend!”
Shit.
Vincent catches her mid-leap, hoisting her onto his hip with practiced ease. “A new friend? At work? That’s a first. Who is it?”
Double shit.
“Mr. David,” she announces proudly, like she’s sharing state secrets. “He’s really tall and he knelt down to talk to me and he said he likes me and I told him about Tommy and Mommy being a superhero and he thought it was cool.”
Vincent’s arms go still around her.
I pause in the doorway, coat half-off, watching the exact moment his expression shifts. It’s subtle. A tightening at the corners of his mouth, a subtle flash in his eyes that lasts less than a second before he smiles again.
“Mr. David,” he repeats slowly. “That’s nice. David who?”
Lucy shrugs. “Just David. He’s really nice. He didn’t get mad when I told him I got suspended.”
Vincent’s gaze lifts to mine over her head. “Oh, didn’t he?”
I finish removing my coat and hang it carefully on the rack. “It was a brief encounter. He was leaving a meeting just as we arrived.”
Vincent sets Lucy down gently. “Go wash your hands, sweetheart. Lunch is almost ready. Mommy and I need to talk for a minute.”
Lucy looks between us, sensing the shift but too young to name it. “Okay. But can I have the strawberry yogurt?”
“Absolutely.” He ruffles her hair. “Extra granola.”
She runs off toward the kitchen.
The moment her footsteps fade, Vincent turns to me. His voice stays low, controlled, but there’s an edge beneath it that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
“You brought our daughter into the office and let David Reid talk to her.”
“I didn’t let him do anything. He walked out of a conference room while we were walking past. It happened in the hallway for like thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds is enough time for him to see her face. To hear her voice. To start asking questions.”
I cross my arms. “What questions do you think he’s asking, Vincent? He’s a man who used to run half the city’s finance. He’s curious, that’s all.”
“Curious about the little girl who has your eyes and your mouth and your stubborn chin. The little girl who just told him her mother used to fight bad guys with her daddy.”
I keep my voice even. “She’s four. She tells stories.”
“She told him you were a superhero.” His tone is quiet, almost conversational, but the undercurrent is cold. “Which I find particularly upsetting, because he knows exactly which bad guys you used to fight. And who you fought them with.”
I meet his gaze without flinching. “You’re reading too much into a hallway conversation.”
“Am I?” He studies me for a long moment. “Or are you finally starting to slip, Nora? Because I’ve watched you play this game perfectly for five years. Perfect wife. Perfect mother. Perfect COO. And now suddenly your ex husband is making friends with daughter, hearing her call you a superhero, and you’re telling me it’s nothing?”
I take a slow breath. “What would you have had me do, hm? Yell at him in the corridor? Drag her away screaming? You don't think that would have looked suspicious?"
He exhales sharply through his nose. “It would have looked like you were protecting what’s ours.”
“She is ours.”
“Is she?” The question lands like a blade between ribs. For a second, the room is quiet. Then, “Because I’m starting to suspect you’re hiding a lot more than you let on, Nora.”
I step into his space, close enough that I can smell the faint cedar of his cologne. “You signed the papers. You put the ring on my finger. You told me you wanted this life. All of it. If you’re having second thoughts, speak now.”
His eyes narrows. “Why does it feel like every time he gets near her, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop? For him to look at her and see something that isn’t mine?”
I step back. “You’re tired. You’re angry. You’re scared, and I understand. But don’t mistake my calm for indifference. I’ve been moving pieces on this board since the day I signed those divorce papers.”
His mouth twists. “You mean the day you agreed to marry me while your husband drank himself into the ground and bled his company to the ground.”
I nod once. “Exactly that day.”
He stares at me. “You never told me the whole truth about why you agreed to this marriage.”
“You never asked for the whole truth. You asked for the information I could give you. The board minutes. The offshore accounts. The names of the men who still answered to David even after he lost his wife. I gave you everything you wanted. And in return, you gave me protection. A new name. A new life.”
Vincent’s voice is quiet now. “And you’ve spent every day since then making sure I never forget that the protection goes both ways.”
“Smart man,” I say with a smile.
He exhales, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to keep us safe, Nora. All of us. If David finds out what we did...”
“He won’t. I'll make sure of it.”
He looks at me for a long moment, something almost like admiration peaking behind the anger. Then he steps forward, cups my face in both hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
“You’re terrifying,” he murmurs. “You know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
He kisses me then, hard and claiming, like he’s trying to remind both of us who holds the power in this room. I let him. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “We can’t let him ruin what we have.”
“We won’t.”
“You swear?”
“I swear on every boardroom I’ve ever walked into and every deal I’ve ever closed.”
He nods once, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Then we keep moving forward. The Singapore closing is in three days, and after that, David’s money is locked in. We get through this, we get the capital, we expand. And then we kick him to the curb.”
I smile against his mouth. “That's my specialty."
He kisses me again, softer this time.
Behind us, Lucy calls from the kitchen. “Daddy! The yogurt has too much granola! It’s crunchy!”
Vincent laughs, the sound rough but genuine. “Coming, sweetheart!”
He starts toward the kitchen, then pauses in the doorway, looking back at me. I’m already moving toward my study, phone in hand, already thinking about the next call I need to make.
“Do you still love him?”
The question pauses me in my tracks, the phone halfway to my ear.
“No,” I reply, but not fast enough.
A tense silence. Then, “Are you lying to me?”
“No,” I reply again, too fast this time.
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me for a moment more, and walks into the kitchen to meet our daughter.