Page 88 of Boss's Fake Wife

“And you had Emily kidnapped too. After you ordered Ferro to do it.”

“Yes.”

“I want to shoot you right here where you lie,” I told him in a low and dangerous voice. “But I’m not going to. Because people like you don’t deserve to just die easily like that. You deserve to rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

Then, I took out Chase’s burner phone from my pocket, happy to see that the cops had remained on the line. “Did you catch all that, you assholes?”

The detective was quiet for some time, and then he said, “We caught it. But it’s a hell of a way to get a confession, though.”

“Whatever.” I hung up. I didn’t care if they believed me or not. It was out of my hands now.

Right now, I needed to get to my woman.

When I got back, Emily was in the meeting room at the compound, surrounded by Chase and a few of the men. They all looked at her oddly, like they weren’t sure how to react to her. They had wrapped her in a blanket, but she was still shaking a little bit.

Chase was talking to her, but he stopped when I entered.

Right then, she looked up to see me.

There were no words to explain the feelings I had at that moment. It was like a giant wave of love, emotion, and sorrow hit me all at the same time. I wanted to laugh and cry.

There were so many things I wanted to say.

At that moment, I wanted to explain to her that I never meant any of the things I said on the phone, that I only wanted to save her. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was for putting her in this situation in the first place.

But the words simply wouldn’t come. They were stuck in my throat.

However, she smiled that beautiful tremulous smile of hers, and I knew she already knew.

She got up and walked over to me, wrapping her hands around my neck and pulling me close.

“I love you,” I murmured to her over and over, hugging her back and trying not to squeeze the life out of her.

“I love you too,” she said, and that was it. No other words were needed.

EPILOGUE

EMILY

An island was the perfect place for a honeymoon.

And even better for a home.

“We’ve lived here for about ten months now,” I told Chris, whose chest I was resting on as I watched the beach on the horizon. “And I never get tired of that sunset.”

“I never get tired of the sight of my wife feeding our baby,” Chris replied, and there was a hungry note in his voice. I saw it in his eyes, too, as he watched our son nurse at my breast. At the same time, his hand ran over my swelling belly, and a hint of a smile tickled his lips.

Chris insisted he didn’t mean to get me pregnant again so soon after our first child. But according to him, “There’s nothing like watching your wife nurse her baby that just fills you with a possessive heat. You make me feel like a caveman sometimes.”

And it was just as well, too, because just a few weeks after our son was born, I was randier than a goat.

Leading to our current predicament.

I rolled my eyes at him this time, though, and shook my head.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned. “I’m exhausted, and I have about ten pots to finish today.”

I’d recently taken up a new pottery hobby to occupy my time while my son rested. Chris sometimes helped me when he wasn’t surfing at the beach or reading in the privacy of his study. Due to the profits from Revit Renewables, which we now solely own, we could now retire without having to work another day in our life. And thanks to the plea deal Chris had with the cops, we could do it relatively peacefully.

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