Not paranoia. Not intuition. The truth.
Vanessa sighed in annoyance, as if the only real problem were inconvenience.
“And the kids… what a headache. Noah keeps crying, Sophie keeps asking questions, they want to see him all the time. Once this is over, we’re going to Dubai for a month. I need to get out of here.”
Alexander felt rage rise into his throat when he heard his children’s names spoken with contempt. He pictured Noah with a soccer ball under his arm, Sophie holding one of her drawings, both waiting behind a door.
Vanessa stepped closer to the bed. He could feel her leaning over him.
“If you knew who I really was,” she murmured cruelly, “you’d know you chose the wrong wife, Alex.”
Her fingers brushed his cheek with a cold, practiced touch that had no soul in it.
Then her tone changed instantly. She slipped back into the sweet voice for Grant and walked out.
For several long minutes, Alexander heard nothing but the monitor’s beeping and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip off the bandages and go after them. But he forced himself to stay still. Now he could not make a mistake. Now he had to win.