Page 343 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Knight

"You left her with him?" I round the table and race for the door of my office. I fling it open and am greeted by the empty desk. "They’re in your office?"

"That’s where I left them."

"You should have stayed."

As I'm about to walk out the door, Abby calls out behind me, "He wanted to catch up with her. It didn’t seem wrong. After all, he is our father.”

“He’s a shark. The only thing he understands is money. He has no idea about feelings and emotions and that there’s life beyond the business."

"And you do?" she cries.

I pause, then turn to look over my shoulder. "What are you trying to say?"

She closes the distance between us. "You love her. Why don’t you tell her that?"

"Because—" I shake my head. "You wouldn’t understand."

She touches my arm. "What I understand is you have feelings for her. That you might have secrets you’re holding back from her.”

I begin to speak, but she holds up her hand.

“I’m not judging you. I’m not. You’ve been through so much Knight, and it can’t be easy for someone in your position to trust another with your emotions.

But she’s not ‘anyone.’ She’s your wife, and you need to tell her everything, or else you’re going to destroy the trust you've built so far with her.”

The blood drains from my features. Sweat pools under my armpits. I can’t lose her trust. I can’t lose her. I can’t.

She takes in my features, then lowers her arm. "Go to her, brother."

I run out the door, down the corridor, and I slap at the button of the elevator, but of course, the car is nowhere close to arriving.

"Fucking fuck." I race toward the stairs, tear open the door, then leap down the stairs. That military training I went through is being put to good use. Down one floor, then the other, through the doorway, up the corridor. I reach Abby’s office, fling the door open, step in… and come face to face with her.

Her features are pale, her lips red like she’s been biting down on them. Her eyes glitter—with tears? With anger? With both?

"Penny—" I reach for her, but she steps around me.

"Don’t touch me." She pushes past me.

I turn, grab her arm.

She stares down at where I have my fingers locked around her wrist, then up at my gaze.

The hurt in them sends a piercing pain through my chest. "Penny, please, give me a chance to explain."

"How many chances should I give you, Knight? You lied to me. And after I asked you if you had any more secrets to share with me, you said no."

"Penny, it’s not what it sounds like."

She laughs, the sound is so bitter, my heart threatens to break apart.

My lungs burn. This beautiful, innocent, sunny, happy girl…

Look what I've turned her into. I should have known I would corrupt her.

Take her joie-de-vivre and leave her with that cynical look in her eyes.

The one thing about her that attracted me to her is the very thing I destroyed.

"Penny—"

"No, you don’t get to tell me what to do. Never again. You hear me. I don’t want to see you. I wish you’d never come back alive." Her features twist. She gasps. "Oh, my god, I didn't mean that. Why did I say it? What’s happening to me?"

"It’s me." I swallow. "It’s all my fault."

She looks at me with an anguished expression on her face, then she slips off her wedding and engagement rings and holds them out to me.

“No—” I shake my head. My heart leaps into my throat. My blood is pounding so hard in my ears, I can barely hear myself speak. “Don’t do that, Penny.”

“Take it, Knight, please,” she pleads.

“You’re my wife—”

“—your fake wife.”

“It's always felt real to me. More than real.” I swallow around the ball of something that’s blocking my throat.

“And I thought so, too.” She hunches her shoulders.

“I hoped it was more than what the contract between us was about, but it’s clear, you don’t trust me.

If you did, you’d have told me about Bobbie.

If you felt anything for me, you wouldn’t have hidden something so big from me.

Now I understand, there was nothing real between us. ”

“There was... There is,” I snap.

“Whatever there was, you destroyed it by your actions. Me wearing your ring is making a mockery of the kind of marriage I’d hoped to have one day.

One in which my husband would have enough confidence in me to share his secrets, as I would with him.

That’s not what we have, Knight. What we have is…

” She swallows. “Nothing.” She holds out the rings.

“You’ve hurt me enough. Please don’t make this more difficult for me. Please take back your rings.”

I try to draw in a breath, but my lungs burn.

My scalp feels too tight. My skin feels like it’s being flayed off my body.

Is this how it felt when the rest of my team were being tortured?

Why does this feel so much more painful than when I was being abused by my captors?

Why does it feel like I’m dying, like there’s nothing left for me to live for?

She looks at me with glittering eyes. “If you feel anything for me, if you have one iota of respect for me, you’ll hold out your palm and take back your rings."

Fuck! “Penny, I—"

“No, don’t try to convince me or order me to obey you because we know I’ll end up doing what you want, but that’s not what I want.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want you to take back your rings, Knight. Please.” She looks at me with so much pain in those eyes, so much beseeching, so much everything, that inch by painful inch, I find myself raising my arm. I hold out my palm, she drops her rings in it, then she turns and takes off running.

And I let her go. My thigh muscles spasm, my feet hurt, every part of my body insists I follow her, but I hold back.

I twist my fingers into fists, let the rings dig into the flesh of my palm, let the pain of the separation sweep through me, but I don’t go after her. She’s better off without me. She is.

He, on the other hand— I turn in the direction of my father’s office. His door is closed. Fuck him. I barge in, slamming the door behind me.

The sound crashes through the space. My father looks up.

Before he can react, I cross the floor, round the desk, then grab his collar and haul my sperm-donor to his feet.

I raise my fist and swing, only to stop less than a hair’s breadth away from his face.

To his credit, the old man doesn’t flinch.

Nerves of steel, he has. The same quality that made me such an asset on any mission.

Cool under pressure, able to dissociate myself from reality and do what was needed in the moment.

And I paid the price for it later. Just like he’s going to pay the price for causing distress to my sweet wife.

I tighten my hold on him, then clench my fist. The rings dig into the palm of my hand and blood squeezes out from between my fingers.

His gaze widens. For the first time in my life, he appears shaken.

"Son, you’re bleeding," he whispers. His eyes—so like mine—darken with empathy, and goddamn, but I can’t stomach it.

I can’t handle the pity in his eyes. I don’t want him to understand what I’m going through.

I don’t want anyone to realize the depth of the wound I’m carrying around inside me—no one except her, that is.

I release my father, and he stumbles, but he doesn’t back away.

He grabs my fist. I allow him to pry open my fingers.

He sees her rings, and the color fades from his features.

He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it out.

I drop the rings into it. He wraps the bloodied rings with care and hands it over to me.

I take it with my unhurt hand, but he doesn’t let go.

"Let me help you," he insists.

"The way you did by what you just told her?"

"I didn't think I was telling her something she didn't already know. She’s your wife; she should know your secrets. How long did you think you'd be able to hide it?"

"That's my problem. She's my wife; I'm the one who gets to tell her my secrets. "

"The only way to have a healthy relationship is by starting out on the right foot; something you, evidently, haven’t done."

"And you have?"

He releases his hold on the handkerchief, and I slide it into my pocket.

Then he grabs some tissues from his desk.

When he reaches for my torn-up palm, I don’t pull away.

I allow him to press the tissues into the lacerated skin, then he folds my fingers around them.

He releases his hold, and the two of us stare at each other.

The silence extends, then he blows out a breath. "If you’re referring to your mother, she’s aware of my past. She’s aware of what I had to do to keep my family in the style they were accustomed to."

"And all we wanted was more of your time. We could have done with far less and a father who was present at mealtimes, at school plays, and at graduation ceremonies."

He winces. "I accept, I wasn’t perfect. I accept, I didn’t come close to it. But I tried my best. When you come from nothing, you realize the value of money. It’s the one thing I was determined my family would never suffer for want of."

"And when you have an absentee parent, you realize you’d rather have their presence in your life than all the money in the world."

His features twist. He rakes his fingers through his hair, then seems to get a hold of himself.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you and Abby.

But I’m not sorry I interfered in your life.

I’m not sorry I put down a deadline for you to get married and settle down.

And I’m not sorry I told her that you're planning to adopt Bobbie’s child. I only wish you'd told her first."