Clive couldn’t hear a thing.
He was stuck in his own head, the air inside the car thick with his heavy, uneven breaths, each one sounding more desperate than the last.
Did he love Amelia?
He’d never sat down and thought about it. When Cameron and the others asked, he just said no, and honestly, he didn’t feel anything about it either way.
If he was being real, it was like air. Everyone needs it, you can’t live without it, but it’s everywhere—you don’t even notice it’s there. Who goes around saying they love air?
So what’s the point of talking about love?
Back when Amelia was in a coma, things were simple for Clive. He played the role of the devoted husband, kept up his spotless reputation. He figured, give it a few years, and when the time was right, he’d let her go peacefully—arrange for her to pass on with dignity.
But then Amelia woke up.
And suddenly, all the little things she’d left behind in his life—her habits, her routines—they all came back to him, like they’d just been waiting for her return.
If Amelia had just stayed quiet and agreeable, he could’ve let her be Mrs. Salmeron forever, no problem.
What did she really have to complain about?
Clive just didn’t get it.
She loved him. He married her. He gave her the Salmeron name and let her have his child. With where she came from, if he hadn’t decided to take her in, she never would’ve even gotten close to a family like his.
So what if he used her skills? It’s not like she didn’t get anything out of it.
Her kid could be the Salmeron heir, and he wasn’t planning to have more kids with anyone else.
A car horn blared behind him, snapping him back.
“Hey, are you blind? The light’s green! Move it!”
The light was about to change. Clive hit the gas and shot through the intersection, leaving the angry driver behind, yelling curses out the window.
When he finally walked in the door, Donna heard him and came out of her room.
She’d taken a day off but couldn’t stay away. She worried about the kids, and she didn’t trust anyone else—especially not Kristen, who she was pretty sure was faking it. Plus, Clive’s mother had given her a generous bonus—three extra months’ pay for her trouble. So here she was, back at work.
She put on her usual polite smile. “Mr. Salmeron, both kids are in their rooms. Did you have dinner? Should I—”
“No.” Clive didn’t even look at her, just brushed right past and headed upstairs.


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