It’s my turn to laugh. “I don’t have any, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“Your boyfriend is loaded. Net worth around a hundred and fifty million, according to Google. I’m sure he can spare the money. It’ll pocket change to him.”

Leandro is worth a hundred and fifty million? Of course I knew he was rich, but I didn’t realize he was that rich. We never talk about his money because it’s not important. I don’t want Leandro’s money. I just want him.

“I am not asking him for money.”

“You should because, even though you do pretty well with your therapy business, I’m sure that you don’t have the kind of money I want, to spare, whereas your boyfriend does. If I don’t get my money, then I’m sending your files straight to the Health and Care Professions Council along with the pictures of you and Silva together and a nice little letter telling them how you’ve been screwing your patient. You’ll be up in front of the Council board faster than you can plead your innocence, and your practicing license will be snatched out of your pretty little hands. You know how the HCPC has zero tolerance for these kinds of things. You’ll never be able to practice again, India. You’ll be blacklisted. A therapist with no license. All those years of training and hard work, time away from our son, wasted. Then, I was thinking, just for the hell of it, I might leak the documents to the press. You know how they love a good scandal.”

“Why are you doing this?” My voice breaks, betraying me.

“Why?” He sounds enraged. “Because you stole my fucking life from me, and now, I want payback!”

My eyes blur with tears. “How do I even know you have these documents? You could be lying.”

“I’m not, and you know it. But if you don’t believe me, then you can always come here and see for yourself. I would come to you, but obviously, I don’t want to break my parole conditions.”

“I’m not coming there,” I state without hesitation. “You’ll have to send them to me. Email them. I’m sure you have my email address.”

He laughs dryly. “I do. I’ll send them over in a few minutes. But, India, when you see these and know I’m telling the truth, don’t for one minute think I’m bluffing. I will destroy your life the way you destroyed mine, if you don’t give me five hundred grand.”

“Five hundred thousand pounds,” I nearly choke.

“It’s a week’s wages to your boyfriend. I’m sure he won’t miss it. And the other condition is that when you have your proof I’m not lying and you have the money, you bring it here to me. I want to see you. And my son…I want to meet him.”

“No.” I slam my hand on the table. “That will never happen.”

“I just want to meet him, India. Just once. I want to know what he’s like. Then, I’ll leave you both alone. I’ll never contact you again.”

“You’re not getting anywhere near him.”

“I’m not a monster, India.”

“Says the man who’s blackmailing me. I won’t do it. Do what you want to me, but you’re not getting near Jett.”

“Then, you’ll lose everything. Your career. Your reputation. You know how people love a juicy story about a bad person. Scandal is all the rage nowadays. A doctor taking advantage of her vulnerable patient. A patient who suffered with PTSD after an almost fatal accident…” He tsks. “It’s bad, India. And I will make you look as despicable and seedy as you made me look for simply loving the wrong person. Seems you and I aren’t so different after all.”

And I’m suddenly that girl again. I’m staring into the past at the man who used to manipulate me into doing whatever he wanted by telling me he loved me.

A tear tracks its way down my cheek. “You never loved me, Paul.” I brush the tear away with my hand.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I did love you. A hell of a lot. I still do in some fucked-up way. You’re the mother of my child, India.” His voice is soft. There’s a brief pause before he says in a harsher voice, “I’ll send you the documents that I have. Then, you have twenty-four hours to decide. If you’re smart, like I know you are, you’ll bring me the money and my son to meet me. If you don’t, I’ll destroy you. And by the time I’m done with you, India…even Silva won’t want you.”

MY PLANE FINALLY LANDED after a three-hour delay, being stuck in the goddamn airport in Belgium. It’s nearing midnight, and I am finally in the car, leaving the airport and heading to India’s house.

I’d texted her when I was still stuck in Belgium to tell her my plane was delayed, and as soon as I landed, I was coming straight to her place, but she didn’t respond. When I was going through security at the airport, I decided to text her again, letting her know I had landed and I was on my way.

Still no response.

It’s bugging the fuck out of me that she hasn’t responded. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m just about to call her when I receive a text from her.

I’m at your place. See you when you get here.

It’s not the usual happy text I get from her and no kiss at the end, which she always does, but I’m still really fucking happy to know she’s waiting at my house for me. Hopefully, in my bed, naked.

My cock stiffens at the thought.

God, I can’t wait to get home and bury myself deep inside her. I’m going to fuck her all night, all over my house. There’ll be no surface we won’t have christened by the time I am finished with her.

“Change of plans.” I lean forward, toward my driver. “I’m going straight home.” Then, I rest back on the seat and close my eyes.

“You’re home, Mr. Silva.”

I feel the night air on my face and blink open my eyes to see the car door open and the driver’s face.

“Shit. I must have fallen asleep.” I rub my eyes.

“I’ll get your case for you.”

I climb out of the car. My driver hands me my case.

“Thanks,” I say to him. Getting my wallet, I pull out a few fifties. “For coming out so late to pick me up.”

“Thank you, but I can’t accept it. Company policy, Mr. Silva. It’s not worth my job.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. But thank you.”

I shove the notes in my pocket with my wallet, and drag my suitcase to my front door. Key in the lock, I open it and dump my suitcase in the hallway.

“Honey, I’m home!” I call out, a smile on my face. I close and lock the door behind me.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Well, that is not the greeting I was hoping for. And her voice sounds monotone. It leaves an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

With a sense of foreboding, I remove my shoes and head to the kitchen.

India is seated at the breakfast island. She’s staring into a glass of red wine in front of her.

“India?”

She lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are red and puffy. She looks like she’s been crying. “I came here because I need to talk to you, and I didn’t want Jett overhearing what I have to tell you.”