Alannah’s lips twitched, her voice rough from dehydration. “So I should thank you, then? Thank you for throwing me into that basement? For letting the snakes bite me?”
A hint of anger darkened Quincy’s eyes. It took him a while to respond, his tone forcibly softened.
“I had Marissa make you the soup you like.”
Alannah turned her head away, refusing to look at him.
“Alannah, if you don’t eat, are you planning to starve yourself and make the news?”
His tone snapped, the porcelain bowl clattering sharply onto the table.
No wonder. No wonder he was suddenly pretending to care. He wasn’t worried about her. Instead, he was worried she’d make a scene and tarnish the company’s image.
But she had no intention of playing along.
Turning back toward him, Alannah met his gaze directly. As she did, she discreetly checked that the tiny hidden camera was still functioning, then spoke the words she’d been holding back for a long time.
“Quincy. Since you like Pearl so much, why don’t we just divorce? You can be with her openly.”
“After all,” she added, “we’re only torturing each other at this point, aren’t we?”
Quincy sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, exuding effortless arrogance.