His surprise looked genuine.
That detail mattered.
For the first time since the gala, I trusted his reaction.
Not on every issue.
Only this one.
Camden was unaware.
He slowly faced Sloane.
She blanched.
Suddenly the pattern emerged, linking Sloane’s access to the manipulated records with Camden’s eagerness to remove me.
Sloane had changed the statuses.
Camden accepted them.
Why?
Because it suited him.
Because by then, he needed me to become professionally incompetent.
My supposed incompetence justified firing me.
My supposed instability justified divorce.
My supposed jealousy absolved Sloane.
My supposed weakness spared Camden self-examination.
He hadn’t fabricated every claim.
He accepted every convenient lie.
“Sloane,” he said.
Her voice shook.
“I can explain.”
I met her gaze.
I’d spent months picturing a confrontation with his mistress.
I expected simple hatred.
I hated her.
Yet the feeling was complicated.
Camden had armed her, however frightened she looked.
