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I don’t bother knocking. “Hey sleepyhead, thought we agreed on breakfast in?—”
Brandon’s at his desk, papers in one hand, lighter in the other. His eyes snap to mine, wide and startled.
The sweetness in my mouth curdles. “What are you doing?”
“Morning, cupcake.” Too easy. Too smooth. He drops the papers like they’re already burning. “Sleep well?”
“Cut the bullshit. What are those?”
He looks down at the papers, then back at me, and something flickers in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. “Spring cleaning?”
I step closer, trying to make out the text.
“It’s nothing.” Ever so slowly, he sets the lighter down. “Just some old paperwork I need to get rid of.”
I snatch the top sheet before he can stop me.
Lydia Smith. My mother’s signature. Morozov Real Estate Investment & Development Group. That’s…
My stomach twists. I grab another page.
A police report. Dated twenty-one years ago. The accident.
Not the official version. This one actually says the car was tampered with.
“You knew.” Ice spreads through my veins. “This whole time, you knew.”
“It’s not—” He reaches for me, but I backpedal. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” A harsh laugh rips from my throat. “By keeping this from me?”
“I wanted to protect you from having to carry this weight. From having to choose between your mother and Anne. I thought… fuck, I don’t know what I thought.” His eyes close briefly, pain etching his features. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid of losing you. I thought… I thought it would be better if it never came out.”
The accusation stings because it’s true.
Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back. I won’t cry. Not over this. “So you could control me? Use it when I step out of line?”
“Fuck no!” His fist slams the desk. “I was going to burn it, Naomi. All of it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Because I love you, you stubborn woman. Because I don’t want you to get hurt. And I couldn’t stand the thought of this hanging over us anymore.”
Love. He’s said it before, but not like this. Not with his heart bleeding all over his sleeve.
I stare at the evidence of murder. But what catches in my throat aren’t the papers, it’s that Brandon had this power over me.
And he never used it.
“You could have made me stay.” My throat closes around the words. “You had every reason to. Every chance.”
His jaw tightens, but his voice stays steady. “You’ve had enough people trying to control you.”
Control.
“I have to—” The words choke out. “Bathroom. Sorry.”
I bolt, barely hearing Brandon call after me.