The last sentence hit her like a slap wrapped in velvet.

She turned to look at him—Cross—the man who’d ruined her life and then bound her to him with a ring and a lie. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to that?

“You shouldn’t belittle yourself any longer,” he said, his tone cold, matter-of-fact, like he was handing down a verdict. “My wife shouldn’t be a weak sweetheart.”

Wife.

She flinched inside at that word. It still didn’t feel real.

Marceline gave a small nod, not because she agreed, but because fighting him was pointless. She...