She blinked at the name.
Ethan walked in minutes later, robe tied loosely, hair still damp. He stopped when he saw the table—then looked at my bruised face.
And smiled.
“Finally,” he said, taking his seat. “You’ve come to your senses.”
Diane laughed softly. “She’s learning her role.”
I poured his coffee.
Ethan leaned back like a king at his throne. “You should’ve acted like this from the start. Would’ve made things easier.”
“For who?” I asked.
His expression sharpened. “Careful.”
The doorbell rang.
He frowned. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Yes,” I said.
“At breakfast?” Diane snapped.
“Guests.”
Ethan smirked. “Good. Let them see how obedient you’ve become.”
I walked to the door and opened it.
First came my attorney, Rebecca Sloan, sharp and composed.
Behind her—two police officers.
Then a bank executive.
