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“What?”
The word came out strangled, barely a whisper.
I kept my voice steady, clinical.
“Hazel. The illness. I’m assuming she told you, given how much time you spent together in Key West these past fifteen days.”
Milo wasn’t in Miami for business like he told me. He was in Key West with the woman he called his work wife. And I’d spent the entire fifteen days he was gone gathering proof—credit card statements, Instagram photos, text messages he thought he’d deleted. I knew about the couples’ massages, the romantic dinners, the secret apartment they’d leased together. I knew everything, but he didn’t know that I knew.
Not yet.
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