Page 45 of The Wrong Husband

Because I couldn’t risk a no.

Because I’m not confident that what I feel for her is enough for her to agree to be with me. Not when she doesn’t know me well enough, and because… Feelings alone aren’t always enough to move people.

Sometimes, it scares them away.

And m-a-y-b-e, it’s fear that what I said wouldn’t matter. That my words wouldn’t be enough. That she’d walk—even if I handed her my heart.

So, I gave her what I knew she couldn’t ignore. Something solid. Concrete. A reason to stay. Marriage with benefits that she couldn’t turn down.

That buys me time to show her what she means to me. How much she needs me. Because she may not know it yet, but I’m the one thing she can count on.

Viktor leans back in his chair, blue eyes narrowed as he studies his cards.

Across from him, Toren Whittington yawns—a deliberate move. Once a sworn enemy of our family, he became an unlikely ally after helping us fend off a Madison takeover. Then his sister married Tyler, and his entry into the family was official.

He slouches like he’s bored, but his eyes are razor sharp, scanning the table.

To my right, Sinclair—our host—stacks his chips into surgical little towers.

Toren makes the opening move.

“I’m in.” He flicks chips into the pot. “Try not to cry when I take your money.”

Viktor snorts. “Keep dreaming.”

“He’s funding our entertainment,” Brody drawls, sipping his whiskey. “A generous donor, really.”

“Charity work,” Sinclair adds dryly, not looking up from his cards.

Toren puffs on his cigar. “You’re all just jealous of my optimism.” He shoots a grin at Sinclair. “Besides, I heard you lost your shirt last week.”

“That was strategy,” Sinclair says, cracking his neck. “Long game.”

“You look tired. Way past your bedtime, old man.” Toren smirks.

Sinclair scoffs. “After 3 a.m. wakeups and diaper duty? Poker night’s downhill skiing.”

I glance at my cards, toss in a stack and, “Call.”

Viktor watches me. “Confident, are we?”

“Trying to make things interesting.”

Brody grins, adding his chips. “I’m in.”

Sinclair matches the pot. “Wouldn’t want to miss this showdown.”

Toren taps ash into a tray and tosses in more. “In.”

Viktor completes the circle. “Let’s go.”

My phone buzzes on the table. I glance at it—a message from the team watching her. I flip it face-down.

Brody’s eyes flick to the screen. “Business?”

“Personal.” I grind my jaw.

Toren smirks. “That wouldn’t be the good doctor, would it?”