Page 74 of Intense
I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
No one can read Finn Quinn.
I pick up the letter with fingers that won’t stop shaking.
Mrs. Quinn,
I know you dared to come to work today without your rings, and I thought to myself, you probably deserve to have something more of a statement to show off our marriage. So, your first gift from your husband.
Wear them, or else.
Once you have them on, please come to the staff room. Your presence is required for a very important meeting.
P.S. I hope you like your new plaque, as specifically requested by yourself.
And yes. HR knows about our marriage, and it has been signed off on.
Love your doting husband,
Finn
I want to scream.
My hands ball into fists. I press one to my mouth to keep from letting the sound out. Rage floods every nerve ending, but underneath that—beneath the fire—is something worse.
He’s doing this for me.
Not for attention. Not for applause.
He’s doing this to get under my skin. Because he knows it’ll work.
And the sickest part? He’s right.
A sliver of me finds it funny. Another horrifying part? Flattered.
He’s always cold. Always composed. Never a man for spectacle. Yet, here he is, loving the fact he’s trapping me in a legally binding nightmare.
One minute I was worried he wouldn’t come back. That he’d vanish—arrested and gone for good. Now, I want to throw him into a wall.
I haven’t heard a word from the people blackmailing me. Not since I handed Finn to them on a silver platter. I guess my part’s done.
But I’m not dumb enough to believe it’s over. They’ll be back. Blackmailers don’t like loose ends. And now I’m married to my biggest liability.
I toss the note aside and snap the ring box shut with a hard click.
Like hell I’m wearing those rings.
Finn needs to annul this circus now before I commit murder.
Fueled by fury, I storm toward the staff room. My heels strike the floor like gunfire. Heads turn, but I don’t care.
I slam the door open.
Balloons. Streamers. Confetti.
And front and center, a giant banner that reads:
