She swallows hard, her eyes darting away. “I don’t remember exactly. He just mentioned about someone looking into me. And…Theo.”

My stomach clenches. A wave of sadness swells inside me, pressing against my ribs—for Bennett for not knowing that looking into his family would be the catalyst. And now, Theo sits beside me, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Morgan doesn’t move, her eyes locked on Aubrey like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Aubrey forces a laugh, though it comes out shaky. “It was probably nothing. Gabriel was always so protective. He worried too much.”

“But you were worried too,” I say softly, my voice steady even as my heart pounds. “Worried enough to… Take action?”

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, I see it—the fear, the guilt, the truth she’s been trying so desperately to hide. The mask is slipping, no matter how hard she tries to hold it in place.

Aubrey’s knuckles are white as they grip the glass, her expression taut. Her eyes dart between us, looking for a way out of the conversation. She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says lightly, though her voice wavers just enough to betray her unease.

A tight coil builds inside me, my hands clench into fists on the blanket. The audacity. The sheer, disgusting audacity of this woman—sitting here, pretending to be fragile, pretending to be the victim, while the people she’s destroyed are still bleeding from wounds she inflicted. Gabriel. Theo’s parents. Her first husband. How many more?

Morgan doesn’t give her the chance to regroup. She leans forward, her tone deceptively casual. “Don’t you? Because it seems like you remember a lot about that day. Your memory seems to be doing much better than it was after he died. Like how you just so happened to bring Gabriel lunch while he dealing with a major stressor. Almost like you knew he’d need a distraction.”

Aubrey’s lips part, but no words come out. She blinks rapidly, as if trying to keep up. “I was being a good wife,” she says finally, her voice defensive. “I brought him lunch all the time! Is that a crime now?”

A crime? My pulse pounds in my ears. She says it so casually like she hasn’t left a trail of bodies in her wake.

“No, of course not,” Theo cuts in, his tone calm and measured, though I can feel the tension radiating off him. I know him. I know what he looks like when he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers twitch against his knee, his jaw tight, his breathing measured but forced.