Page 44 of The Wrong Husband

Notes: No longer purely protection. Emotional contamination: 51%.

Note to self: Coax subject to snack healthier.Must carry carrot sticks on hand to tempt her to eat it, instead of chocolate bars.

16

Connor

"What did you do after?" Brody, my middle brother, drawls. He’s the most controlled of all my brothers. For him to ask a question means something about my story must have struck a chord. I don’t blame him. How many women would dump a jug of water on their date before leaving?Uncomfortable?Yes, but she earned my respect.

That was a week ago.

We’re in the den in Sinclair Sterling’s home, where this week’s poker session is being hosted. The game started past midnight, so Viktor, the Crown Prince of Verenza and my brother-in-law, could join. He came straight from the airport, having just flown in from Verenza.

It’s 4:30 a.m., and the game shows no sign of slowing down. The room is dimly lit, a single antique chandelier casting a warm glow over the poker table.

"WhatwouldI do?" I survey my hand.While the other patrons sniggered and a couple of them applauded, she walkedaway, leaving me to grab a napkin and try to dry myself."By the time I looked up, she was marching out of the restaurant."What a woman!

I caught sight of her straight back and ample backside, which stretched the dress she was wearing and captivated me, until she pushed the door to the restaurant open and disappeared.

I also had to contend with James walking over to me with a smirk and a satisfied expression on his face. I glared at him, cautioned him not to say a word, then paid my bill and left.

James said he doesn’t need me to keep an eye on her anymore. I told him I agreed.

I lied.

Because the truth is—I’m not ready to stop.

Not now. Not after all this time. Not after she’s become a part of my routine, my day, my life.

Sure, James asked me to start the surveillance. But the decision to continue?That’s all me.

Now that she knows I was watching her, it only makes sense to bring in someone else.

Someone I trust. Someone I’ve trained. Someone discreet enough to blend into the background but sharp enough to keep me informed. Because I need to know where she goes. Who she sees. How she moves through her days.

It’s obsessive. It’s stalker behavior. I know that. But I also know it keeps her safe.

And it gives me the one thing I can’t seem to let go of—access to her.

I tell myself it’s for strategy. That I need intel to woo her properly. To understand her rhythms. Her habits. Her tells.

But the truth?

I can’t stop watching her. Can’t stop thinking of her. Can’t stop obsessing about her.

Because I meant every word—I want to marry her.

The idea sparked the moment I saw her staring at that wedding dress in the shop window. But it took root when she leaned over me in the ER—her fingers brushing my skin as she stitched me up, her scent cutting through antiseptic like it was meant only for me.

Even in those shapeless scrubs, her body called to mine. The steadiness in her hands, the sympathy in her eyes, the way she made pain feel like something I’d earned— Hell, I never stood a chance.

She didn’t just tend my wounds. She carved herself into my bloodstream.

There’s a pull toward her I can’t explain, only feel. Raw. Unavoidable. Like gravity.

I’ve been searching for her without knowing it. And now that I’ve found her, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her close. I’ll use every advantage to make sure she’s in my life.

So, I made her an offer. Laid it out like a business deal. Logical. Strategic. Safe.