bChapter /bb251 /b

    Frank Atwater’s fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as they rested on the back of Elissa Drummond’s hand.

    For a moment, it seemed as if he’d heard some dark joke; a hollowugh escaped him. “I know you’re still angry with me, and I don’t expect you to forgive me anytime soon. But don’t say things like that.”

    He wasn’t about to get a divorce now–and truth be told, the thought had never even crossed his mind before.

    The idea that they could already have divorce papers finalized was

    unthinkable.

    He had all the patience in the world. He’d give her time, coax her, wait until her anger simmered down.

    He could never take her words at face value when she was upset. But seeing the seriousness in her delicate features, a wave of unease spread restlessly through his chest.

    Elissa wasn’t surprised by Frank’s reaction. She didn’t rush or even seem to notice the tremor in his touch. Calmly, she drew her hand away and said softly, “You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me. She handled it herself. Your copy of the papers is still with her.”

    “Impossible!”

    Frank’s denial was automatic. He shot to his feet, all long limbs and looming presence, suddenly towering over Elissa with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

    But Elissa didn’t so much as flinch. Her voice remained as even as

    before. “I told you. Ask your mother.”

    Herposure was absolute.

    Just like every time before,

    Frank fought to keep his irritation from boiling over, staring at her for a

    12:10)

    long moment.

    He realized he’d never seen her lose control.

    Never once had he seen her cry.

    He used to appreciate that about her–her obedience, her quietness, her gentle nature. She never caused a scene, never shed tears or made a fuss.

    She was always dignified, always rational.

    But now, Frank felt like something was deeply wrong.

    Where was the girl who used to clutch his hand outside the hospital, sobbing and clinging to him, her face streaked with tears?

    Frank’s hand, hanging by his side, curled into a tight fist. He searched her face for even a flicker of emotion, but found nothing.

    After a moment, he drew a deep breath, turned on his heel, and strode quickly out to the backyard, pulling his phone from his pocket. Even as he left, he made sure to instruct the security guard to keep an eye on Elissa and not let her leave.

    When Carm saw Frank’s name sh across her phone, her heart skipped a beat. She nced sharply at Marcia Carson, who was downstairs trying to soothe Hickey Atwater, then forced herself to answer in a steady voice. “Hello, Frank.”

    That morning, the moment Marcia hade home clutching Hickey, both looking utterly disheveled, Carm knew her n had failed.

    She’d warned Marcia before she set out to confront Elissa: if you’re going to do something, do it cleanly. No need to draw things out or force a choice. But Marcia wouldn’t listen–she insisted on twisting the knife, wanted Elissa to hurt before she died.

    And nowi, /inot only had Elissa survived, but Marcia had managed to drag herself–and Carm–down with her.

    Fool.

    12:10

    Frank’s blood was already simmering, and his words came out clipped and edged with anger. “When did you file the divorce papers for me and Elissa?”

    The calmness he’d seen on Elissa’s face had told him this was almost certainly true.

    More importantly, he knew his mother had the connections to pull it off.

    That’s why he didn’t ask, “Did you file the divorce papers?” He went straight to the point.

    He wanted to know just how far his mother had gone behind his back.

    Hearing her son’s furious usation, Carm’s nerves frayed further. “Divorce papers? I–I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

    “Mom.”

    Frank’s hand clenched as he yanked his tie loose, veins standing out on his neck. He cut her off, his impatience razor–sharp. “I’ll only ask you once. When did you do it?”

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