He rubbed one hand over his mouth. “Carissa—”
The name sounded exhausted.
As if he were the one being asked to carry too much.
Carissa opened her clutch and took out the envelope.
Everything about that moment felt slow.
The crackle of the paper.
The way a woman near the bar leaned forward.
The way Nikki seemed to realize a half-second too late that this was not merely exposure. It was a handoff.
Carissa held the envelope out to Damen.
“What is this?” he asked.
“You’ve spent ten years pretending I wasn’t your wife,” she said.
THE END
