Past

Isla 

Rolin's voice was too calm, the kind of calm that comes right before a storm. "Alex nearly pulled it off. Covered his tracks like a pro." He tapped the file. "But Nana's death never sat right with me."

My hands clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. "What did you find?"

That calculating look in his eyes sharpened. "Nana's will stated the company and properties would only transfer to you after you and Alex had a child together." A pause that made my stomach drop. "If she died before that happened... everything went to both of you."

The room tilted. Suddenly all those late-night "business meetings" where Alex had begged for a baby made sickening sense. Not love. Not family. Just cold, hard greed.

Rolin stood abruptly, pacing like a caged panther. When he spoke again, each word landed like a hammer blow. "Every time that bastard visited Nana in the hospital, he was slipping mercury into her IV. Slow poisoning. Paid off the medical staff to look the other way."

Something in my chest cracked open.

The scream that tore from me didn't even sound human. My whole body shook with the kind of rage that turns bones to powder.

Rolin didn't even blink. Just watched me with this... pride. Like I'd finally passed some test.

"The doctors first," I spat through clenched teeth.

His smirk could have cut glass. "Already in the basement." Leaning closer, his whisper raised goosebumps on my skin: "They're waiting for you."

I was breathing like I'd run a marathon, seeing the world through a red haze.

Then—

Ringtone.

My blood turned to ice.

Alex.

Forcing air into my lungs, I smoothed my voice into something sweet and broken. "Hello?" Purposely breathless. Just how he liked it.

"Where the hell are you?" His usual arrogant bark. Like he owned me. Like he hadn't murdered nana—

I forced sweetness into my voice, honey-coated and smooth. "Just got back from cooking class. I'll call you later, alright?"  

Alex's breath crackled through the phone, rough and uneven, but my act worked—his tension bled out. When he spoke again, it was that fake-gentle tone, the one that used to make my stomach twist. "You know I didn't mean to snap at you like that."  

I exhaled, soft and practiced. "I know."  

A pause. Then a low, pleased sound from him before the line went dead.  

The phone trembled in my grip as I lowered it.  

A laugh cut through the silence.  

I glanced over. Rolin lounged against the doorframe, watching me with a grin that didn't reach his sharp eyes. "Damn," he said, shaking his head. "You're terrifying. Glad I'm not the one you're gunning for."  

I stayed quiet.  

My fingers dug into the file until my knuckles ached white. Names, dates, transactions—all the proof I needed spun through my mind, each detail slotting into place like a bullet in a chamber.  

Rolin cocked his head. "So? What's the play?"  

I met his gaze and let my lips curve—slow, razor-edged. "You'll see."  

He huffed a laugh but didn't press. "Well, wife," he drawled, pushing off the wall, "time to pack your bags. You're moving in."  

I arched a brow. "I'm leaving everything behind. All of it."  

"Figured." His smirk turned sly. "That's why I had the closet stocked. New clothes, toiletries—hell, even your weird almond-scented lotion."  

I froze.  

Turned fully toward him, studying the unreadable glint in his eyes. "You were that sure I'd say yes?"  

His smile widened—the kind that made you realize too late you'd already lost.  

Wordlessly, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket. Flicked it open with one thumb. Inside, a silver band caught the light, elegant and understated.  

"Took me three jewelers to find it," he admitted, voice teasing. "Couldn't let my bride hate her ring."  

My throat tightened.  

Alex bought me gold. Hated it, always had. I'd mentioned preferring silver exactly once, years ago, offhand.  

He forgot.  

Rolin remembered.  

And for the first time in months—maybe years—I smiled. Real and ruthless. 

Rolin's fingers were warm as he slid the ring onto mine, taking his damn time about it. His thumb traced slow circles over my knuckle after it was in place, like he was memorizing the feel of my skin. Then - because he couldn't resist being extra - he brought my hand to his mouth and pressed his lips right where his thumb had been.

I yanked my hand back. "Cut it out."

"Can't," he said, grinning like an idiot. "My wife's too pretty."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt, but damn if my mouth didn't betray me with the tiniest twitch. "We both know this isn't some love story," I muttered, turning toward the kitchen before he could see my cheeks heating up. I started opening cabinets at random, not really looking for anything, just needing to do something with my hands.

He propped himself against the counter, all smug amusement. "You cooking?"

"Nope." I kept my back to him. "Just looking."

"That's your tell," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Always fake-busy when you're avoiding something."

I ignored him.

Then he hit me with the past like he'd been waiting for the opening. "Remember army kitchen duty? When they'd stick us there for no damn reason?"

I snorted, finally turning around. "We wouldn't have been there if you hadn't pissed me off day one."

He barked a laugh. "Still my fault? You're the one who chewed out the lieutenant, Isla."

"Because you wound me up!"

He stepped closer, that annoying energy of his taking up all the air between us. "Sounds like excuses to me."

"Excuses?" I crossed my arms.

"Yep." His grin turned shit-eating. "Face it - I was the better cook. Without me, they'd have been eating charcoal."

I gaped at him. "You burned three pans in one week!"

"And who fixed it every time?" He leaned in, just enough to be annoying.

"Fine," I snapped. "Dinner's on me tonight. Let's see that smart mouth after you taste my cooking."

His eyes lit up. "Challenge accepted, Butterfly."

The bastard was still grinning when I stormed off, but my hand - the one he'd kissed - stayed warm long after.