Page 218 of My Ruthless Husband

“Me?” I blink in surprise.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile. “I called Vicky. She told me you left L.A. without telling anyone. In the middle of the night…”

“Foolishly,” I finish for him with a small wry smile.

But his expression turns serious. “I thought it was brave.”

His words make me pause, caught off guard. “Brave?”

“Staying in a toxic relationship is hard, River. But leaving it? That takes real courage. You took that step. And I admire that. I just wish I’d been there for you.”

His sincerity hits me. It’s strange, hearing someone speak about my actions like they were worth something. Like he understands me. I smile, touched by his words. “Thank you, Matt. But how did you know where to find me?”

Matt shrugs. “I read in the papers that Damian was spotted here. It didn’t make sense at first, but I figured it out. He’d found you. So… here I am.” He pauses, his expression growing more serious. “River,” he says, his voice dropping, “remember when you told me to look into your father?”

I nod slowly.

“I have bad news.”

“I know about his bankruptcy,” I tell him. “And the hostile takeover.”

“So you know Damian is the one who did it.”

I exhale slowly. “I do.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He takes a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “But that’s not all, River. There’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m not sure how you’ll take it, but it’s something you need to know.”

A sense of foreboding settles over me. “What is it?” I ask, my stomach dropping.

He hesitates, and for a moment, I can see the struggle written all over his face. His gaze drops to the floor, like he’s trying to pull himself together.

“Matt?” I ask, my heart beginning to race.

“I—” He shakes his head, as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever it is he’s about to say. But then his eyes lock onto mine, dark and vulnerable. “It’s about your father.”

“Is he…? Did something happen…?” I ask quietly.

“No, no,” he rushes to say. “It’s not that.” His voice uneven, the effort to hold himself together apparent. “But I—”

I watch him struggle. He’s not looking at me now, staring instead at his shoes, as if searching for the right words. “My mother… she worked for him,” Matt continues, his voice strained. “She was his personal assistant. About twenty-four years ago.”

I’m stunned into silence, the news catching me off guard. “Okay… but why are you so tensed?”

He curses under his breath and stands, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. “I thought I could get through this without having a panic attack…”

I rise to my feet, wincing at the ache in my knees, and instinctively reach for his arm. “Matt, you’re sweating. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet my gaze, and starts pacing, his movements erratic. My concern sharpens. I turn and rush inside, grabbing a bottle of water, before rushing back out.

I walk over and gently guide him back to the bench. “Here,” I say, unscrewing the cap and pressing the bottle into his hands.

He takes it with trembling fingers, the bottle nearly slipping from his grip as he drains half of it in one go.

I sit beside him, waiting for his breathing to slow, giving him the space he needs.

Once he finally seems calmer, I speak up. “You don’t have to talk if it’s this hard. You’re sweating through your shirt, Matt. You’re trembling. You’re not okay, and I can see it. Whatever it is... I don’t have to know.”

“You have to.” He exhales, his breath ragged as he leans back, eyes closing for a brief moment. Almost as if the words are fighting to get out, he blurts, “I witnessed a murder.”

---