Victor - Her Ruthless Husband (Ruthless Triad 3)

Victor doesn’t exactly understand why she’s belaboring this point. Until suddenly, he does.

“Dawn,” he realizes and signs at the same time. “You are jealous.”

24

DAWN

You’re jealous.

Victor has said some pretty hurtful stuff to me over the years, but those words backhand me across the face. Brutal and raw.

Mainly because I realize as soon as he says it that it's totally true.

I gape at him in shock for a second or two. But luckily, it doesn’t matter how long I spent in Japan. I'm still an American woman through and through. My over-the-top defense system kicks in after a few sputtering moments.

“I'm not jealous. I’m taking notes. Maybe I'll ask Yolanda to find me a hot Korean tutor too. I haven’t gotten that far on my own. He might take my language study—how did she put it? Oh yeah, to the next level.”

His dark eyes flash. “No.”

“Why not?” I demand, taking care to infuse an extra dose of petty in every accompanying sign.

“Because that would make me jealous,” he answers, his face a work of stone. “And neither of us want that.”

“So, this tutor situation is going to be a repeat of our decade-long fake marriage?” An old anger I didn’t know I was still carrying rises up inside of me. “You get to cheat on me and do whatever you want. While I'm expected to just sit around, waiting for whatever scraps you have to give?”

Victor stills in my accusation. “Is that what you think happened? First of all, I never had sex with another woman during those ten years. I couldn't cheat on you, even though I wished I could. Second of all…”

He takes a step toward me, leaving only enough room between us for me to see his hands as he signs, “I have much more than scraps to give you now.”

He never cheated? He was as faithful to me as he made me be to him? Everything inside me stutters, trying to figure out what to do with this new piece of information.

But then I remember who I’m dealing with. A monster. A ruthless monster who will do anything, say anything to get his way.

“I don't believe you,” I answer.

He considers my words with a flat look. Then signs, “Yet, I’m telling you the truth.”

I stand there, breathing hard, even though I've exerted no energy. I don’t know how to process all of this. What to say, or how to react.

“Do you still need those sticky notes?”

His question brings me out of my emotional buffering session. “What?”

“Sticky notes. You said earlier that was why you were here. Or did you have some other reason for coming to my office, right at the end of my tutoring session?”

Here’s my opening. I can finally talk to him about what happens after I leave here next week. About full custody and putting a nine-hour drive back between us.

But instead, I take the excuse. “Yes, that's why I came. More Post-Its. Us animators go through a lot of them.”

He lets a few significant beats pass, but then he goes to his desk and picks up the block of yellow sticky notes sitting on top of it. He extends the entire stack to me. “This way, you won't run out.”

Translation: you won't have anymore so obviously fake reasons to come back here.

I take the Post-its and mutter thank you before rushing out of there.

It doesn't matter, I tell myself as I hurry back to the office I forgot to thank Victor for. It doesn't matter if he never cheated. Your marriage was still fake. And toxic.

I have much more than scraps to give you now.

I shake my head, chasing his words away.

He’s probably lying, I remind myself. Just like he lied about having changed back in August. Obviously, he wasn’t only having sex once a year for our first nine fake anniversaries. That would be crazy.

And even if he isn’t lying, it doesn’t matter. We don’t work. The only thing we have left to talk about is custody of this little girl growing inside me. That’s the entire point of me being here.

Yet I go downstairs super early to breakfast the next day. Over the last few days, I'd noticed that Victor is always still working on his breakfast while Phantom sits with a finished plate in front of him until Victor announces that he’s leaving. That means that Phantom must usually show up to breakfast before Victor does.

I’m rewarded for my guesswork when fifteen minutes after my arrival, Phantom walks in, dressed for the day in a suit. But instead of his usual open collar, he has on a tie.

He pauses when he sees me already sitting there. “Hey, Phantom, what's up.”

Phantom’s usual perma-glower takes on a suspicious glint. “Nothing much. What's up with you?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

I wait to continue the conversation until Phantom comes back to the table, his plate piled high with pancakes, eggs, home potatoes, and bacon. It’s quite the breakfast. And I almost laugh when he tucks a cloth napkin into his collar over his tie to protect the front of it.