Page 112 of Billion Dollar Dispute

“I’ll talk to you later,” is all he says.

I stand there for a moment, exhaling heavily, ready to find out what the fuck is going through Harvey’s head.

But as I turn to leave, Harvey stands tall, his annoyingly sharp jawline and bright eyes making it hard to look away. My heart squeezes, but I gather my strength and swallow down the confusion and hurt. “I forgot the keys.” He walks up to me and leans in for a kiss, but I turn my face, letting his soft lips brush my cheek instead. Frowning, he pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you pay Danny ten thousand dollars to stay away from me?”

“Yes,” he says, not even blinking.

My chest tightens. I feel like I can’t breathe. “Why?”

“I did it for you,” he answers, his voice calm, too calm.

But something feels off. My stomach twists, and I can’t shake the knot forming in my gut.

“Harvey.” I step closer, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m asking you again. Why did you pay Danny?”

His shoulders sag as he lets out a long breath. “Because I caught him using drugs. Not just in your bathroom…” He gestures toward the men’s room. “But he was stealing money to feed his habit. And he was buying from your ex.”

I blink, trying to take it all in, but he keeps going.

“I paid him off to protect you,” he says, his voice softer now. “I didn’t want you getting dragged into his mess. I wanted you to focus on making this business a success, not cleaning up after someone else’s mistakes.”

We’re standing so close, the space between us tense with unspoken things. His eyes don’t leave mine, and I can feel the weight of everything he's trying to say. I’m in shock, but I force myself to speak.

“So, you can get your money and leave. I get it.” My voice cracks, sounding foreign to my own ears.

“No. I did it to protect you.” Voice strained, his eyes widen with shock. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you...” He starts and reaches out to comfort me.

I put my hands up, stepping back. “Don’t touch me.”

Standing there, his shoulders slumped, hands by his sides, he stares down at me. My breath comes hard and fast. I can’t believe he never mentioned any of this.

“You could have told me one thing. Yet-t you hid all of that information,” I say, voice trembling. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course,” he says softly.

“When?”

“Soon.”

Not soon enough.

“You should’ve told me when you found out.” My arms cross defensively, my posture closing off as the hurt builds inside me. I can feel the distance between us growing, despite how close we stand.

“It wasn’t the right time. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

“You don’t get to choose when to tell me things. You were supposed to be honest with me.” My body shakes with the intensity of my emotions.

“Butter?” he starts, but I cut him off.

“No!” I snap. The nickname slices through me like a knife. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Why does it hurt more now that he’s in front of me? I wasn’t even this broken when my husband went to jail. Why do I feel like crying? I don’t cry. But what did I expect when I handed over my heart. I was a fool. A stupid, lovesick fool, acting like I’m thirty-four and not forty-two. My error.

I straighten, reclaiming what little control I have left. “I don’t want you back here. Pack your shit and go.”

“But?”

---