He told me to be careful, while arranging the very “carelessness” that would kill me.
I didn’t go to the office. Instead, I took a cab to a private club Ethan Blake had sent me.
Ethan was already in the suite.
He wore a sharply tailored black suit, tall and poised on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand.
Three years had made him even more restrained and self-possessed, an aura of life-and-death authority between his brows that inspired fear and respect.
Simply by sitting there, he radiated power.
“Mr. Blake.” I crossed over and sat opposite him.
He lifted his gaze to me, pausing briefly before it settled on my still-flat belly.
“Pregnant?” His voice was low and magnetic, free of excess emotion.
“Mm. Three months.” I touched my stomach. She was my life—and the fuel for my revenge.
He set down his cup and leaned forward, fingers interlaced on the table, his eyes sharp enough to cut through anything.
“Daniel’s moving against you?” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.
“Yes.” I told him everything I’d heard in the hospital hallway the day before—
Olivia’s pregnancy and the planned “car accident,” every detail a knife scraping across my heart.
