Page 79 of Her Ex's Father
She kicks, a faint flutter under my palm. It makes me smile despite everything. Maybe today is the day I’ll start looking at names—though eventhatthought aches a bit, unsure if Ben will be there for me to bounce ideas off of.
The clock on the wall reads barely past five. Too early, even for Ben. But then again, he doesn’t really sleep. I’ve seen the light in his office at two in the morning, his silhouette hunched over papers. I’ve heard him pacing the hallways when he thinks I’m asleep.
I slide off the bed, pulling one of his shirts over my head from the chair by the window. The fabric hangs loose on me, the sleeves too long, but I like the way it smells, the way it makes me feel wrapped in something that’s his. My bare feet sink into the rug as I move toward the bathroom, but a faint glow catches my eye.
The door to the adjoining room is cracked open, a thin line of light spilling out.
Curiosity tugs at me. Maybe he’s on a call, maybe he couldn’t sit still after last night’s confession. I pad over and push the door wider.
And freeze.
Ben is sitting at the desk, hunched over, his back to me. My phone glows in his hand. The screen light casts his face in harsh planes, his brow furrowed, his mouth tight.
For a moment, my brain blanks out. Then fury spikes, hot and immediate.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He startles, his head snapping up. For a split-second guilt flashes across his face, quickly masked by steel. “Maddie?—”
“Is that my phone?” My voice rises, sharp and shaking.
His jaw clenches. “I needed to know.”
My stomach twists. “Know what?”
He turns the screen toward me, and I see it—my messages with Jack.
“Who is he?” Ben demands.
The shock of betrayal surges higher than my embarrassment. “Youactuallywent through my phone. How old are you?”
“Answer me.” His tone is low, commanding, the CEO in him bleeding through.
I storm forward, snatching the phone from his hand. My grip is tight enough to hurt. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to paw through my things like I’m some employee under investigation.”
His eyes flash. “Who is Jack?”
“An old friend.” My throat feels raw. “That’s it.”
Benedict rises slowly from the chair, his height looming, his body radiating barely-contained tension. “An old friend you still message in the middle of the night? An old friend you tell you wish things had turned out differently?”
The words slam into me like a slap.
“You read that.”
“You sent it.”
My breath stutters. Shame floods me, tangled with fury. “That wasn’t about you. And it was months ago.”
“Then what was it about?” His voice is sharp enough to cut.
“My life!” I burst out. “Before all of this. Before Derrick, before you. Jack and I—” I choke, drag in a ragged breath. “We grew up together. We used to talk about traveling, about getting out, about chasing something bigger. None of it happened. That’s what I meant.”
His expression doesn’t shift, carved from stone.
“And I’m supposed to believe you weren’t talking about us? About this marriage?”
I glare at him, tears stinging my eyes. “God, Ben, is that what you really think? That I lie awake at night wishing I’d never married you?”
