Chapter 486 The Crack

Noah’s POV

She stared at me. For a second, the armor cracked. I saw something underneath it. Fear. Not of me. Of being seen.

“Noah,” she said.

“Tell me where you go,” I said.

“Out,” she said.

“Where?” I asked.

“Places,” she said.

“Delia,” I said.

“I don’t owe you a schedule,” she said.

“You owe me honesty. That is the marriage. Not the schedule. The honesty,” I said.

She was quiet. The kitchen was quiet. Somewhere upstairs, the house settled.

“I am not cheating on you,” she said finally.

“I did not ask if you were cheating,” I said.

“You are asking like you already know,” she said.

“I am asking because you stopped looking at me when you answer,” I said.

She looked at me then. Really looked. And I saw it. The guilt. Not the kind that comes from another man. The kind that comes from something she had already done and could not take back.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Delia,” I said.

“Nothing that matters,” she said.

“Then tell me what doesn’t matter,” I said.

She turned away again. I caught her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop her.

“Look at me,” I said.

She looked.

“I am not going to yell. I am not going to accuse you of something I cannot prove. But you are going to tell me what is happening, or I am going to find out myself. And I promise you, you will not like how I find out,” I said.

Her breath caught. Not fear. Something else. Recognition. She knew that voice. She had heard it before, in the early days, when I told her what I wanted and did not ask permission.

“Fine,” she said. “You want to know? I went to see your father.”

The kitchen went cold.

“When?” I asked.

“After the wedding. He called me. He wanted to talk,” she said.

“About what?” I asked.

“About the family. About Julian. About Katia,” she said.

“And you went,” I said.

“I went,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

She pulled her wrist free. I let her.

“Because he made me feel like I mattered. For once. Not as the sister. Not as the extra. As someone he actually wanted in the room,” she said.

I sat down. Not because I was tired. Because I needed to be lower than her so she would not see my face.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said he could make me rich. He said he could put me above the Windsors. He said—” She stopped.

“He said what?” I asked.

“He said he could show me what power feels like,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

“Delia. What did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“You went to his house. You let him talk to you like that. You came home and you smiled at me like nothing happened,” I said.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” she said.

“That is not what I asked,” I said.

She was quiet. The silence was worse than any answer.

“Did you kiss him?” I asked.

“Noah—” she said.

“Did you kiss him?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

I stood up. Slowly. I did not raise my voice. I did not need to.

“You kissed my father. You came home. You slept with me. You let me hold you. And you did not say a word,” I said.

“I was going to,” she said.

“When? After the next time?” I asked.

She flinched. That was the answer.

“I am not going to scream at you,” I said. “I am not going to throw things. I am going to ask you one question, and you are going to answer it honestly, or this marriage is over today.”

She nodded. Once.

“What did he want from you?” I asked.

She looked at the floor. Then at me.

“He wanted me to listen. To Julian. To the family. He wanted information,” she said.

“And did you give it to him?” I asked.

The silence stretched. Long enough that I already knew.

“Once,” she said. “One time. A meeting. I told him it was nothing.”

I walked to the window. The garden was green and ordinary. The world outside did not know what was happening inside this kitchen.

“You spied on my cousin for my father. You kissed my father. You slept with me after. And you told me none of it,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

“Do you know what that makes you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Say it,” I said.

“A liar,” she said.

“Worse. You made me a fool. You made me the man who did not see it,” I said.

“Noah—” she said.

“I am not finished,” I said.

She stopped.

“I am going to find out what my father is doing. All of it. And when I do, you are going to help me. Not because I ask. Because you owe me. Every kiss. Every lie. Every night you came home and smiled,” I said.

She was crying now. Quiet. The kind that does not make a sound.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“I know you are. Sorry does not un-kiss him,” I said.

I picked up my keys.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To find out what my father really wants. Stay here. Do not call him. Do not go anywhere,” I said.

“Noah, please,” she said.

I stopped at the door.

“You had a choice. You chose him. Now you live with what that choice costs,” I said.

I left.

The drive to my father’s office took twenty minutes. I did not call ahead. I did not knock. I walked in like I owned the place, because in some ways I did.

He was at his desk. He looked up. He smiled.

“Noah. I was wondering when you would come,” my father said.

“What did you do to my wife?” I asked.

He leaned back. Unhurried. Like he had been waiting for this conversation for years.