Page 84 of The One Night Match

Mr. Whiskers purrs and nuzzles my hand.

“Such a good boy,” I coo. “Where’s your dad, huh?”

He meows, followed by another head butt to make sure I keep patting him.

I’ve fallen for the little orange ball of fluff just as much as I have his owner.

I’ll need to check on Kevin, but I’m sure Lexi has been taking good care of him the last few days. He goes back to his owner the day after tomorrow, and while I’ll miss him, Mr. Whiskers will be happy to have the house to himself again.

I drop my hand and take another look around the office before I notice something on the desk that piques my interest.

Without letting myself think about the fact that I absolutely should not be snooping, I round the solid wood desk and carefully pull the folder in question out from beneath the stack of stuff on top of it.

I flick it open, and my stomach dips painfully.

It’s the ninety-day clause.

The one that would end our marriage with no questions asked.

And it’s signed.

Tears fill my eyes, and I clutch my chest as if it’ll do anything to stop the agony slicing through my heart.

The rational part of me knows that Cruz is doing this because he thinks it will keep me safe. But the other part is hurt. More hurt than I thought possible.

There’s an envelope tucked beneath the contract, and my hand shakes as I slide it out. I’ve already come this far. I may as well go all the way.

A rogue tear falls against my cheek as I unfold the note, my heart beating erratically in my chest.

Riley,

Falling for you was never part of the plan, but it is the reason I’m doing this.

It’s become clear that I can’t keep you safe, so I have to let you go.

I’m sorry.

Cruz

A rough sob tears from my throat as pain cuts through my chest.

He’s doing this out of fear, not because he wants to, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt all the same. Too bad for him, I have no intention of going down without one hell of a fight.

I carefully replace the note but leave it open on his desk so he knows I’ve seen it, before turning to leave the room, only to come up short when I find someone who absolutely does not belong standing in the doorway.

“Monica,” I say carefully. “What are you doing here?”

Her blonde hair is piled in a knot on her head, and her face is free of makeup, something I suspect is out of the ordinary for her.

She’s dressed in all black, and it’s only after a few moments that I notice the gun clutched in her hand.

“I’ve come to collect you,” she says simply, her face void of emotion as she steps forward with the weapon raised toward me.

I swallow heavily. “Collect me?”

“I don’t have time for your questions,” she snaps. “We need to go.”

I take a steadying breath, thinking back through all the training I’ve done over the years. I need to play this right, and even though everything I’ve ever been taught suggests I should try to appeal to her emotions, I know that won’t do me any good. Monica hates me, and begging her not to do this will likely just make her angry, putting me in more danger than I’m already in.