Chapter 488 The Estate

Noah’s POV

“Because your wife is in my house. Because she is carrying information for a man who wants my family dead. And because you are the only person who can get her out before she gets hurt.”

I sat back down.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go home. I want you to tell her everything you just heard. I want you to tell her that I know. I want you to tell her that if she keeps working for your father, she is done. Not with me. With you.”

“And if she doesn’t stop?”

“Then she chooses him. And you choose what to do about it.”

I looked at the floor. Then at him.

“You are giving me a choice.”

“I am giving you the same choice you gave me. Months ago. In my office. When you brought me a warning and kept the rest.”

I stood up.

“I will talk to her.”

“Good.”

I walked to the door. I stopped.

“Julian.”

“What.”

“I am sorry. For all of it. For the silence. For the months. For the warning I called protection.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Sorry does not un-silence you,” he said. “But it is a start.”

I left.

The drive home took longer than it should have. I kept replaying his voice. I knew everything you have been carrying for months and never said. He had known. He had known about the car, the emails, the study. He had known and he had let me sit in his office and call it a warning.

I had spent months protecting my father. I had spent months protecting a man who called my wife a tool.

Delia was in the kitchen when I came in. She was making tea. She looked up, and her face did something careful. The same careful face she had worn at the counter. The same careful face she had worn at the wedding.

“You went to see him,” I said.

She set the kettle down.

“Noah.”

“You went to see him. After the wedding. He called you, and you went.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? After the next time?”

She flinched. That was the answer.

“I know about Thursday,” I said. “I know about the book. I know about the hall. I know you listened to Julian’s meeting and reported it back to my father.”

Her face went white.

“How do you—”

“Julian told me. He knew before you got there. He let you hear what he wanted you to hear. The meeting was real. The port was real. Everything you told my father was true and useless.”

She sat down hard on the stool.

“He knew.”

“He knew. He has known about my father for months. The car. The emails. The study. Everything I kept from him, he already had.”

She looked up at me. Her eyes were wet.

“Then why did you come here?”

“Because he told me to tell you that he knows. And because I am done carrying this alone.”

She was quiet for a long time.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“The truth. All of it. Not the parts that are safe. All of it.”

She looked at her hands.

“He kissed me,” she said. “At his place. After the wedding. I went there because I was angry about Katia’s invitation. I was jealous. I was stupid. And he kissed me, and I did not stop him.”

The kitchen went very quiet.

“And then?”

“And then he asked me to listen. To Julian. To the family. He said he could make me rich. He said he could put me above the Windsors. He said he could show me what power feels like.”

“And you did it.”

“Once. One meeting. I told him it was nothing.”

“You told him it was nothing because it was nothing. He already knew.”

She nodded slowly.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“Sorry does not un-kiss him.”

She looked at me. Really looked. And I saw it. The guilt. The fear. The thing underneath all of it that she had been carrying alone for weeks.

“I am not asking you to forgive me,” she said.

“Good. Because I am not ready to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“I am asking you to stop. Stop going to him. Stop listening. Stop being his tool. Because if you keep doing this, you are going to get hurt. And I am not going to watch that happen.”

She was quiet for a long time.

“What if I can’t stop?”

“Then you choose him. And I choose what to do about it.”

She looked at me. Her eyes were wet. Her face was careful. Too careful.

“I don’t want to choose him,” she said.

“Then don’t.”

She stood up. She walked to me. She put her hand on my chest.

“I am sorry,” she said. “For all of it. For the silence. For the lies. For the kiss.”

I did not push her away. I did not pull her in.

“I know you are,” I said. “But sorry is not enough. Not yet.”

She nodded. She stepped back.

“What happens now?”

“Now we find out what my father is really planning. All of it. And we do it together.”

She looked at me. Really looked. And for the first time in weeks, the careful face was gone.

“Together,” she said.

“Together.”

I picked up my phone. I dialed Julian’s number.

“She knows,” I said. “She is done with him.”

Silence on the other end.

“Good,” Julian said. “Then we have work to do.”

I hung up.

Delia was still standing there. Her hand was still on my chest. Her eyes were still wet.

“What kind of work?” she asked.

“The kind that ends with my father in a cell,” I said. “Or worse.”

She nodded slowly.

“Then let’s do it,” she said.

I looked at her. Really looked. And I saw the woman I had married. Not the careful face. Not the armor. The woman underneath.

“Let’s do it,” I said.