"Honey, running into her like this must be fate. Why don't we help Mildred out?" She nuzzled closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Come on, just let me help her. Please?"

Wyatt had no defense against her wheedling. He turned to me. "Mildred, Vera's thought about you all these years. She says you were her role model. She means well."

When I said nothing, Vera smiled. "I've got a piano variety show coming up—Rhythm. If you don't mind, I could get you a spot as a contestant."

"And since I'm one of the judges, I'd take good care of you!"

I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.

So this was her idea of "helping" me—dragging me in front of cameras to make herself look better by comparison?

What she didn't know was that the show had been created by my husband. For me.

And I was the undisclosed international top-tier judge they hadn't yet revealed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Morris Dickerson pulling up to the curb.

I brushed off the spots on my clothes where they'd touched me and said flatly, "No, thank you."

"And unless there's something else—let's not see each other again."

As I turned to leave, Vera grabbed my arm, her voice laced with curiosity. "Mildred, where do you live? I'll have my husband drive you."

I shook my head and walked straight to Morris's car.

Vera watched me go, something calculating flickering behind her eyes. She held Wyatt back as he moved to follow. "Honey, I think Mildred's married."

"Look—her husband came to pick her up."

"He seems a bit older, but I'm sure he treats her well enough?"

For the first time, Wyatt pried her hand off his arm and strode to the car in long, urgent steps. He seized the door before Morris could close it.

His voice was ice, but his eyes churned with something far more complicated. "Mildred Fox. This is your husband?"

"This is what you call 'doing fine'? Marrying someone like him?"

"What happened to the woman who was too proud to settle? Where did she go?"

"He's not worthy of you. Divorce him. If it's about money, I'll wire you whatever you need."

I opened my mouth—then stopped, struck by how absurd it all was.

Why would I explain anything to him?

I simply pushed him aside, pulled the door shut, and said quietly, "If you really feel you owe me, then give me back my hands."

Everything else was meaningless.

And I knew that was the one thing he could never do.