The question hit Regina like a punch she didn’t brace for. "Do you want him dead?"
Her breath snagged, sharp and humiliating, and her eyes widened before she could stop them. “How long,” she asked, voice tight, “have you been standing there?”
Daniel didn’t answer right away.
He leaned back in his wheelchair, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest, posture infuriatingly relaxed—as if he hadn’t just overheard the messiest, rawest pieces of her life. "Standing? Are you mocking me?"
A faint smile curved his lips. Not kind. Not warm. The kind of smile that said he enjoyed knowing more than he should.
“I've been here long enough,” he said calmly, “to know your husband is a thorn.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“And thorns,” he added softly, “are meant to be ripped out.”
Her stomach droppe
