Page 96 of Sleeping with the Enemy

“Why, though?” she asked. “After everything, after I let you walk away, why would you do that for me?”

Miller's expression shifted, something raw surfacing beneath the composure. “You know why.”

“But you ended it,” Astoria said, and the words came out rougher than she intended. “You walked out of my house, and out of my life, and you didn't look back.”

“I looked back.” Miller's voice was quiet. “I've done nothing but look back since that night.”

Astoria had replayed that night so many times: Miller standing in her living room, explaining the logic—Valerie's suspicion, the professional consequences, the scandal that would destroy them both. It had all made sense, and Astoria knew it was what had to be done.

But sense didn't explain why Miller had shown up on Monday and said what she said under oath when she could’ve given vague answers to protect herself and her career.

“I understood why you left,” Astoria said. “What I don't understand is why you didn’t play it safe on the witness stand.”

Something shifted in Miller's expression. “Because I couldn't let her destroy you with lies. Not when I knew the truth.”

“You could have stayed away, kept your head down, and let Rachel handle it.”

“No.” Miller shook her head. “I couldn't.”

The simple certainty in her voice made Astoria's chest ache.

“Valerie spent so many years telling me I was impossible to love,” she said. “That anyone who got close enough to really know me would eventually leave. When you walked out, I thought she was finally right.”

“Astoria—”

“But you didn't leave because I was too much.” She held Miller's gaze. “You left because you were trying to save me. And then you spoke up, even when it cost you something.”

“It would have cost me more to stay quiet.” Miller's voice was rough. “Sitting there, watching her try to tear you apart with fabricated claims, knowing I could stop it—” She broke off. “I couldn't live with myself if I'd said nothing.”

Astoria let that land. It wasn't a declaration of love. It was something more honest than that: a choice made, a price paid, actions instead of words.

They stood there on the courthouse steps with the summer heat pressing down and the distant sound of reporters stillcalling questions to Gerald. The case was over, and there was nothing standing between them anymore except everything that had happened between them and the fear of wanting something this much.

“What happens now?” Astoria asked.

Miller looked at her, the same way she had in hotel rooms and all the moments Astoria had tried so hard to forget. “I don't know. What do you want to happen?”

The question Astoria had been avoiding since July. What did she want? She'd spent so long not letting herself want anything, not letting herself believe she deserved anything, that the answer felt dangerous to speak aloud.

But Miller was standing here, looking at her like she was worth the risk, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to believe her.

“I want to talk,” Astoria said. “A real conversation. Not here with reporters and half of Phoenix Ridge watching.”

“Okay.” Miller nodded. “I'd like that.”

“Friday. There's a coffee shop on Oceanview. It’s quiet and private. I go there sometimes when I need to think.”

“I know the one.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Miller's mouth. “The one with the terrible scones.”

“The scones aren't terrible.”

“They're objectively terrible, Astoria.”

Something bloomed in her chest. This was what she'd missed. Not just the wanting or the heat between them, but this—the ease, the way Miller could make her almost laugh in the middle of a crisis.

“Friday,” Astoria repeated. “Two o'clock.”

“I'll be there.”