"Sit here, wife. Rest a bit."
Moments later, an assistant arrived with a platter of my favorite fruits and snacks. Tristan placed his laptop in front of me, queuing up my favorite TV series. Finally, he reached out and rubbed my head affectionately.
"I still have some work to finish. Be good and wait for me here, okay? Once I’m done, I’ll take you out for seafood."
His tone was soft, his gaze filled with love—so convincing, so practiced.
He turned away, settling into his chair, but barely a minute had passed when a message popped up on my screen.
"Brother, my heart is getting worse. Am I dying soon? When will you give me my sister-in-law’s umbilical cord blood?"
My breath hitched.
He had forgotten to log out of Facebook on his laptop, syncing his messages in real time.
And then, right before my eyes, he responded.
"Soon. In five days, I’ll arrange a car accident. She’ll believe the child died in the crash. Then, we’ll use the umbilical cord blood to treat you. My Faye will be fine."
A car accident.
He had planned it all.