He stopped four feet from the table, looking down at me with an expression of profound, devastating theatrical grief.
“Eleanor…” Silas choked out, his voice cracking with rehearsed heartbreak. “How could you do this to him? He treated me like his own son. He gave us everything.”
I looked at the man I had shared a bed with for thirty-six months. I looked at the slight, almost imperceptible twitch at the left corner of his mouth—the arrogant, predatory tell he displayed whenever he bluffed an opponent off an acquisition table.