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By the next afternoon, Dante had the security footage.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes red-rimmed, fingers white around the file.

"Isobel. The one who saved me five years ago—it wasn't you."

Her expression froze, then she forced her soft smile back on and reached for him.

"Dante, why are you saying something like that all of a sudden? You must be tired—"

He ripped his arm away. His voice came out low and serrated.

"Stop it. I've seen the footage. It was Nina. It was Nina who saved me. It was Nina who sat with me through those weeks when I wanted to die!"

All the color left her face.

Years ago, she'd happened to walk past his hospital bed. He'd woken, dazed, and mistaken her for someone else. She should have corrected him. Instead, desperate, flattered, she'd let the lie stand. Then her family had shipped her off to Europe. When she came back years later, she had cancer—and she wanted him, wanted something of his, before she died. So she came closer.

"I—I just wanted to be close to you. I panicked and lied. That's all."

His voice was colder than a gun barrel. "Terminate the pregnancy. Today."

Isobel went frantic. "No! This baby is everything—it's the only thing I'm leaving behind! How could you—"

Her voice climbed, shrill. "Nina already knew I was pregnant! The wedding was canceled because of me. You really think you can just throw me out now?"

He closed his eyes. Opened them.

"Isobel. You are not keeping me chained to you with this baby."

He arranged the procedure himself. On paper, the reason was that her body couldn't sustain the pregnancy. Isobel screamed, sobbed, threatened. He didn't flinch.