Page 22 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

Confusion plays across her face as she takes the paperwork and goes to sit on her bed. There’s silence as she shifts through the document, reading the medical notes that I’ve hacked into and stolen. On her. On Eric.

I watch as every emotion plays across her face. Shock, confusion. Disbelief.

Sorrow.

She looks up at me. “This isn’t real.”

I nod once. “I can assure you it is.”

She turns back to the first page, scanning it again.

“This is…this is from three years ago. This is old. But it is our doctor’s name,” she says quietly, her finger tracing the words on the page.

“I remember him coming home from the doctor’s office, he told me he had pulled a muscle and that we couldn’t do anything for a little while.

” She realizes what she says and peeks up at me, blushing.

For a minute, nothing is said. The room fills with her melancholy. With her acceptance. That her husband had gotten a vasectomy three years prior, and kept it a secret from her. That she’d twisted herself to pieces every month trying and waiting for that positive test when it wasn’t even possible.

Her grief thickens in the room and I find myself desperate to escape it. I want to walk out the door and lock it behind me. To avoid having to experience this .

And there’s a flash of anger, again, for the man that caused it. That hurt her. That Eric doesn’t have to witness her heartbreak. I do.

“Why do you have this,” she finally asks, looking up at me and I see the tracks of tears that have silently started to fall.

I shrug. “We needed to know everything. I always research my jobs beforehand.”

She lowers her gaze.

I wait and wait for an outburst. For an angry, screaming fit for being betrayed by the man that she loves. Only it never comes. After a few minutes she just stands and sets the folder neatly on the dresser.

“How funny that you bring this now, when I’ve spent the day feeling so guilty about being here. About him having to miss me,” she smiles, looking over at me. “It’s our anniversary tomorrow, you know. I had planned a special night for us, for my hard working husband. For everything he does for me.”

If she’s angry, I can’t tell. It’s obvious from her voice, her words, that the betrayal has cut her deeply. I need to leave her to process this. To let this rift solidify.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and she glances over at me. Her red eyes hold a terribly sharp pain, but I didn’t cause it. Eric did. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

She turns away, sniffing. “How could you? You don’t know anything about me.

” Then she laughs and another round of tears starts.

“Well, that’s not true is it? You know more about me and Eric than I do, it seems.” She wipes her face and stands tall, lifting her chin and turning to face me.

“Thank you,” she says. “Thanks for showing me this.”

I nod, and turn for the door again. I hesitate for a beat, considering for a moment that I could comfort her. But just as quickly, that’s dismissed. Bothered by the urge, I step into the hallway without looking back, shutting it and locking her in.

I turn and see Jesse at the other end of the hall, watching me as he leans back against Bo’s door, his green hair falling haphazardly into his eyes as he smirks at me .

Bo’s got him pinned, his hands running up Jesse’s sides, his mouth hungrily sucking on the crook of his neck.

Either he doesn’t know that I’m watching or he doesn’t care, and Jesse bites his lip as he looks down at the top of Bo’s head and groans, eyes rolling back when Bo nips at his earlobe.

Not in the mood to watch, I go down a separate hallway, heading back for my office. Apparently Bo’s not going to be kept in his room because Jesse believes he can trust him. It’s risky at best, but…

That’s not my problem right now. Emma is.

I’m pulled back to the cameras, needing to know what she’s doing, beating back the knowledge that it’s quickly becoming an addiction for me.

It’s my job, nothing more. It gives me control to know what she’s doing, and I need that.

It’s a feeling that’s unmatched, being in complete, unbreakable control of myself and maybe some of the people around me as well.

Pulling up the feed, I see her lying in bed. Her expression is blank as she stares at the ceiling. Her hair splays beneath her wildly, her little sundress contrasting heavily with the sadness radiating from her form.

She looks stunning, in spite of the tears. Or maybe they enhance it.

I can see that it’s working. Her mind is turning, playing over the lies Eric told her. Maybe pulling other little details that back up the claims, all the little ways he might have made the lie worse by supporting her attempts to have a baby.

I lean back in my chair and watch her cry, dismissing the guilt again for not staying to comfort her. Shows of emotion don’t usually sway me, but for some reason hers does.

Out of all the things Eric has done, lying to his wife about not wanting a child doesn’t even come close to the worst. Unintentionally, deceiving the most loyal person in his life might have just made things a fuck ton easier for me to get my revenge.