“It can't be,” I whispered, the words escaping my lips as a weak, disbelieving stutter, utterly devoid of conviction. My mind was scrambling, desperately trying to reject the terrible truth Nash had just delivered.
But the moment the denial left my mouth, my brain began working against me. Everything from the day of the incident—the catastrophic wedding breakup—started playing in my mind with frightening, meticulous clarity. And it was all there: the inconsistencies, the convenient coincidences, the strange lack of witnesses, and the perfectly timed appearance of my supposed savior. All the flashing warning signs we had all blindly ignored were suddenly neon bright.
I slumped against the wall, the heavy realization settling like a block of ice in my chest. The logic of his manipulation w
