The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 357

The Meeting (2) 

MARY’S POV: 

“Is he here on Alistair’s behalf?” I asked. The words came out sharper than I intended. “Is this supposed to be a warning?” 

Hotch blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What? No. Marl is-” 

“I’m not here for Alistair,” Marl cut in. His eyes held mine, steady and sure. “I’m here because Hotch asked me to help with your case.” 

“You’re his friend.” 

“I was his friend. I’m not sure I am anymore.” 

Those words again. He had said them before, in my driveway, in the darkness of his car. I wanted to believe them I wanted to trust him. But trust was a luxury I could no longer afford. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I said carefully. “I do. But you have to understand, you’re still Alistair’s closest friend. You’ve known him for years. You’ve been at his parties, watched him with Vesper, and you never said anything.” 

“What was I supposed to say?” 

I didn’t have an answer for that. 

Hotch looked between us, his confusion deepening. “Wait. You two know each other?” 

“We’ve met,” Marl said. 

“A few times,” I added. 

Hotch studied us both for a long moment, then shook his head. “Small world.” 

“Smaller than you think,” I murmured. 

The waitress appeared, and we ordered coffee. The silence stretched between us, uncomfortable and charged. I could feel Marl’s eyes on me, even when I wasn’t looking at him. I could feel the weight of his presence, the questions he wanted to ask, the answers he was waiting for. 

Hotch cleared his throat. “So. You said you wanted to meet. I assumed it was about the divorce.” 

“I’ve decided to stop wasting my life.” 

Hotch laughed, a real laugh, warit and genuine. Then his expression turned apologetic. 

“The thing is,” he said, “I didn’t end up starting an investment firm. I founded a law firm instead. But if you’re willing to join us…” 

I opened my mouth to respond. 

But before I could speak, Marl cut in. 

“You two seem pretty close,” he said, and his voice was smooth, casual, the voice of someone who was asking a question that wasn’t really a question. “Does Alistair know about this?” 

The question hung in the air between us, sharp and unexpected. 

I turned to look at him. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes, those dark, unreadable eyes, were watching me with something I couldn’t name.