HE SLAPPED YOU THE SECOND YOU WALKED IN LATE FROM YOUR HOSPITAL SHIFT AND ORDERED YOU TO COOK FOR HIS FAMILY… BUT WHEN DINNER WAS SERVED, YOU BROUGHT OUT A BROWN FOLDER INSTEAD, PRESSED PLAY ON ONE AUDIO FILE, AND TURNED HIS PERFECT FAMILY NIGHT INTO THE MOST TERRIFYING MEAL OF THEIR LIVES
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ere other people’s emergencies always mattered more than your own life.
Before you can even pull your keys from your bag, the apartment door flies open.
Your husband is already standing there.
Ethan Morrow, thirty-seven, handsome in the way polished men can remain handsome long after kindness leaves their faces, fills the doorway with pure accusation. His jaw is tight. His eyes are hot with the kind of anger that has long since stopped being spontaneous and become ritual. He doesn’t ask why you’re late. He doesn’t look at your exhausted face and wonder what happened. He doesn’t see a wife. He sees a target that has made him wait.
