Chapter 6
“You work for me.”
“Yes.”
“Then do what I’m asking.”
Ben looked toward the blue blanket still clenched in my hand.
“I’ll confirm whether Noah received medical care. I’ll contact your solicitor. I’ll help you reach Clara through proper channels.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what I’m willing to do.”
Seven years earlier, I would have fired him.
Seven hours earlier, I might have.
But something had shifted.
Perhaps the empty crib had made threats seem childish.
Perhaps for the first time I understood that control and competence were not the same thing.
“Fine,” I said.
Ben nodded.
“I’ll start.”
My phone rang again.
Sabrina.
I stared at her name.
Then answered.
“Did you record me?”
Silence.
Not surprise.
That was the answer.
“Sabrina.”
“You sound angry.”
“Did you record me?”
She exhaled.
“Parts of the evening.”
“Why?”
“Because you say things and forget you said them.”
“Did you send that footage to the press?”
Another pause.
The old Ethan would have admired her composure.
“Answer me.”
“I didn’t expect it to spread this quickly.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“So yes.”
“You told me you were done hiding.”
“I told you I was unhappy.”
“You told me your marriage was over.”
“I told you a lot of things while drinking.”
“And now suddenly none of them count?”
I walked away from Ben.
The windows overlooked London.
From forty floors above the ground, the city appeared orderly.
It was one reason I loved height.
Chaos becomes geometry when viewed from far enough away.
“Sabrina,” I said, “my son was sick.”
She was quiet.
For the first time, something uncertain entered her voice.
“I didn’t know it was serious.”
“You saw the messages.”
“I saw your wife messaging.”
“You asked if there was a problem.”
“And you said he had Clara.”
My own sentence came back to me.
Not as an accusation.
As evidence.
Sabrina continued.
“You made the choice, Ethan. Don’t rewrite it because you hate the consequences.”
I shut my eyes.
There are enemies who lie to you.
There are worse enemies who tell the truth at the exact moment you want a lie.
“Why release it?”
Her voice cooled.
“You kept saying soon.”
“Saying what?”
“That you would stop pretending. That you would make a decision.”
I remembered.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Sabrina had grown tired of private dinners, side entrances, deleted messages.
She wanted the affair acknowledged.