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He could have my genes. Live off my money.

He’s nothing like me.

None of them are.

Tonight, Oliver will be the first to realize it.

Our first dayof trial ended on a positive note. Obviously. I handpicked the jury myself. I own the judge who wisely threw out a few of the ADA’s objections.

There are other matters to take care of at the office. I should’ve told our driver to drop me off there after the trial.

But no.

They’ll wait for tomorrow.

I have personal matters to attend to at home, I told my assistant.

Preparing Ophelia for tonight.

I let myself into our home, dropping my keys and bag at the entrance.

This time, the silence in the house is a welcomed one. An expected one, since I was the one who called Clara on the way over here and ordered everyone to return to their quarters for the day.

The house is dimly lit, no light filtering in. In the winter, the sun sets early. It was already dark when I was driving over here.

The scents of rice and maybe—is that chicken?—carry to me. My heart beats one, two, three times for the effort Ophelia has put into cooking our dinners.

It’s completely unnecessary. I have people to do it for me. I can cook for myself.

But she insists on showing me she cares. That she loves me. And if she does it through food, I won’t deny her.

A crippling softness climbs up my throat. Spreads warmth across my face.

I’d be a fool to hold on to it.

Oliver will be here in a few hours.

I’ll hug her once he’s gone.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins. My vision is clearer than ever. The air filtering into my lungs is fresh. Clean. I taste blood on my tongue.

I need that.

I need her.

Ophelia waits for me in the living room. She’s tucked under a gray throw blanket on the couch, reading a book. The sight of her chain draping to the floor gets my cock hard.

“Sonnet.”

“James, hi.” She places the book on the end table next to her.

Using one hand. She’s been reading one-handedly too.

The other one rests underneath the blanket. Hidden.

A trap.

I’m proud. I’m furious.