Page 80 of My Damaged Protector

“Yeah, you're overwhelmed, and you're acting on that. It's understandable.”

A wry chuckle escapes, and I blow out a long breath.

Overwhelmed is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I'm out of breath. It's like I'm just not allowed to take a break with the way I keep getting sandbagged with problems left and right.

The thing about this inheritance though, is that it's not a problem.

It's a miracle.

It just feels too good to be true.

“Tell me one thing, did she tell you why she decided to give me everything?”

He's startled by my question, and he struggles to come up with the answer.

“You don't know,” I say bitterly.

“No, she didn't tell me. But that doesn't mean I don't know,” he instantly refutes, his stance shifting to defense.

“So, what do you know then?”

“Well I know she cared about you, and you're here because she believed you're the right person to take over. So the right question is, what are you going to do? Prove her right or wrong?”

I can't help the laughter that escapes me. It comes deep from my belly and through my chest, leaving me breathless. When I'm done laughing, I have tears in my eyes, and it's not from happiness, but I don't let them cling to my lashes for longer than necessary.

Clearing my throat, I speak. “You know what's funny?”

“I have a feeling you're about to tell me,” he responds grimly.

“Well, it's the fact that I've been doing some research of my own lately, and I guess what I found?” He doesn't say anything, so I continue. “I found out that this business, I mean everything I've been handed, has always been in the family. It's been passed down from one person to the other for many generations. So me being here is not about my aunt believing shit about me. It's because she couldn't find anyone else but me!”

“And why are you telling me all this?” he asks quietly.

“Because you're the one insisting on painting her to be a saint,” I snap.

A poignant silence falls over the atmosphere.

The bartender chooses that moment to pick up my glass, his gaze flitting over us questioningly. He asks if I need another glass; I say no.

“You asked why,” Christopher says just as the bartender leaves us alone.

Not exactly, but I nod anyway.

“She was my wife.”

Whoa.

What the hell?

“How's that even possible?” I snap in disbelief.

He wants to pull something on me, and it has to be this?

“How's it not possible?”

“Well, for starters, you never mentioned anything about this when you called claiming to be her lawyer.”

“I am her lawyer, and what would it have changed if I told you we were married?”

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