“Find out what?” I said, voice as cold as the rain.
Neil’s eyes flicked to the kitchen counter, to the custody papers splayed out like a betrayal. Then back to me. “About the photo… I took it. I sent it,” he said, his voice turning octave.
My hands shook. “Why?”
He exhaled, muscles tense. “Because Zach was spiraling. I wanted to wake you up. Show you who he really was, before he could drag you and your son into the wreck. My agency had been tracking some of his associates during his PR fallout; I noticed things. I didn’t mean to pry in your private life, but your husband had been under our investigation for months.”
My forehead scrunched. “What do you mean by investigation?”
“Embezzlement, sort of corruption in his business,” Neil shrugged.
This—custody filing, betrayal, feeling like a stranger in my own life—made me want to scream. Instead I found my voice icy calm. “Your idea of saving me was sending evidence… to myself?
Neil met my gaze. “I wanted to help you, Arianne,” he said, voice firm but gentle.
“Why, Neil? Do I look like a charity case to you?”
“I didn’t say you are… But I know you need my help, that’s why I’m here.”