What''s there to learn, anyway?


    He hadn''t had a chance to hang out with the guys in nearly three weeks!


    ...


    Lillian''s Manor, ground floor hall.


    M sat at the table, her hand resting on the handle of a knife, waiting in silence while the rain outside battered the windows with restless impatience.


    Momentster, the front door swung open.


    A tall man stepped inside, rainwater still clinging to his tailored ck suit. He carried himself with that effortless air of privilege, as if the world itself owed him respect.


    "You asked to see me," Lysander said, striding closer, his mood clearly good. "Does that mean you''ve finallye to your senses and you''re ready to—"


    He stopped short when his eyesnded on the knife in M''s hand-and the scattered documents on the table. His brow furrowed.


    M nced up at him, her voice cool and steady. "Ready to do what, exactly?"


    "My dear, that thing''s dangerous," Lysander replied, frowning as he stepped forward, reaching to take the knife from her.


    She was faster. The de shed between them, her grip steady. "Stay back."


    She retreated a pace, then tossed a stack of photos at him. Her tone was icy, demanding. "Did you do this?"


    Lysander''s gaze dropped to the pictures-photos of a hand, battered and bruised, so mangled it was painful to look at. The color drained from his face; his sharp eyes became unreadable, dark as midnight.


    He stared at M, who looked back with a chilling calm. His voice was cold, clipped. "Who gave you these?"


    "Does it matter?" M''s lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile. "I''m only asking one thing was it you? Was it you who destroyed Forrest''s hands?"


    As her usation rang out, Lysander''s hand fell away. The photos slipped from his grasp, fluttering to the floor, where he ground them underfoot.


    He snorted, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "So what if I did? Frankly, I should''ve done worse. If he dares show his face to me again, I''ll make sure he can never use those hands at all."


    M''s hand trembled around the knife.


    She grabbed the folder from the table and flung it at him, her voice shaking. "And these? All of these did you do this too?"


    Papers scattered everywhere, each page spelling out in stark ck and white the ugly truth of their seven-year marriage—a beginning built on lies, ending in ashes. Lysander looked down for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes were fathomless, voice cial. "You''ve been investigating me?"


    That was all the confirmation M needed.


    Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared at the man standing across from her. In that instant, the man she''d shared a bed with for seven years felt like a total stranger.


    Her voice broke. "You''re insane. You really are."


    Lysander''s face was unreadable. "M, you betrayed me first. I only did what had to be done."


    "Me? Betray you?" M gave a strangledugh, her whole body shaking. She had to grip the table to keep from copsing.


    Red-rimmed eyes zing, she red at him, her voice raw and full of pain. "Lysander, I wish I''d never met you in my life!"


    The wind howled outside, rain hammering the ss. The world seemed to close in, darkness thickening within and without.


    Silence fell, heavy as a tomb.


    It took M a long while to steady herself.


    She ignored the shadowy figure half-lost in the gloom across from her. Instead, she reached out and gently touched the men''s formal jacket hanging on the mannequin beside her.


    "Lysander," she said quietly.


    "I designed this suit myself. Chose the fabric, cut every piece, embroidered it by hand for three months. Even that red diamond-I picked it out just for you. I wanted to give it to you for our eighth wedding anniversary."


    The silver crane embroidered across the chest spread its wings in lifelike detail, its beak set with a brilliant red diamond-right where the heart would be. She had poured everyst hope and scrap of love into this gift.


    And in the end, it meant nothing.


    Her fingers brushed over the gem, and she let out a soft, almost sereneugh. "But that day, you took our child and had a candlelit dinner-with Giselle."


    Even M was stunned by how easily the words came. It wasn''t as hard to say as she''d imagined. Swallowing back tears, she wrenched the diamond from its ce and hurled it to the floor, as if tearing out the heart that had once loved Lysander so desperately.


    The jacket tore at the chest, leaving a gaping hole.


    Lysander stared, frozen, as ifpelled to step forward-until the knife shed between them again.


    "Don''te any closer!" M shouted, voice ragged.


    And then, in a single motion, she spun around, seized the suit from the mannequin, and shed at it with the knife-again and again-shredding the fabric until nothing remained but ruined scraps.