When My Husband Defended Her After She Tried to Kill Me

Brooke's eyes widened. For a heartbeat, I saw the calculation behind them—the rapid assessment of her next move, the weighing of options. Then she lurched forward, the Tupperware container tilting in her hands.

The cake hit the floor with a wet smack. Chocolate frosting splattered across the Persian rug, across the hem of my Valentino gown, across the polished toe of my mother's Louboutins. Brooke went down with it, her knees hitting the hardwood with a crack that made half the table wince.

She clutched her ear, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her fingers scrabbled at the small flesh-colored device nestled there—the hearing aid—and when her hand came away, she held the pieces like shrapnel. Tears streamed down her face, real ones, the kind that came from physical pain or excellent method acting.

Her hands moved in frantic, jerky signs. *I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy. I'm sorry.*

"Brooke!" Rhodes was out of his chair before I could blink, dropping to his knees beside her. He gathered her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head like she was made of spun sugar. "It's okay. You're okay. I've got you."

She buried her face in his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs. The broken hearing aid lay between us on the floor, a tiny accusation in plastic and circuitry.

Rhodes's head snapped up. His eyes found mine across the wreckage of my birthday dinner, and they were full of something I'd never seen directed at me before. Contempt.

"Are you happy now?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp enough to draw blood. "Your hostility—your jealousy—you made her so nervous she couldn't even hold a plate. She was trying to do something nice, and you made her feel like garbage."

I stood perfectly still. My hands hung at my sides, loose, empty. Around the table, my guests had frozen into a tableau of discomfort. Diana's knuckles were white around her wine glass. My mother's face had gone carefully blank, the expression she wore during hostile takeovers.

"She can't hear now," Rhodes continued, his voice rising. "Do you understand that? She can't afford a replacement. Those things cost thousands of dollars. But I guess that doesn't matter to you, does it? You've never had to worry about money. You've never had to worry about anything."

Brooke's shoulders hitched. She turned her face just enough that I could see her profile—the tears, yes, but also the corner of her mouth. It wasn't quite a smile. It was something sharper. Something that tasted like victory.

"Rhodes," I said quietly. Just his name. Nothing else.

"Don't." He stood, pulling Brooke up with him, keeping her tucked against his side like a shield. "We're leaving. I'll take her to the ER, make sure she didn't damage her ear. Not that you care."

He guided her toward the door, her steps small and stumbling, his arm locked around her waist. At the threshold, he turned back.

"You know what your problem is, Savannah? You're so used to being the smartest person in the room, you can't stand it when someone else needs attention. You can't stand not being the center of the universe. It's ugly. You're ugly when you're like this."

The door closed behind them with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot.

Nobody spoke. The candles flickered. Somewhere in the kitchen, a timer beeped, shrill and insistent.

I looked down at the cake smeared across the floor. The scent of peanut butter was unmistakable now, thick and cloying. I could see the evidence in the crumbled texture, the oily sheen of the frosting.

She'd tried to kill me. And Rhodes had defended her for it.

"Savannah." My mother's voice, low and steady. "Sit down."

I sat. My legs folded beneath me with mechanical precision. Someone pressed a glass of water into my hand. I didn't drink it.

Diana leaned across the table, her voice barely a whisper. "We all saw it. We all know what just happened."

I nodded. My throat felt tight, but not with tears. With something else. Something cold and clarifying.

"I know," I said.

---

Rhodes showed up at my penthouse at nine the next morning, unannounced. He looked like he hadn't slept—hair uncombed, yesterday's shirt wrinkled, shadows under his eyes that spoke of hospital waiting rooms and guilt that hadn't quite landed where it should.

I opened the door in my silk robe, coffee in hand, the picture of composed domesticity.

"Sav." He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "We need to talk."

"I know." I closed the door, gestured to the sofa. "Sit. Please."

He sat. I remained standing, looking down at him, letting the power dynamic settle into place.

"I'm sorry," I said. The words came out smooth, practiced. "I was insensitive last night. I let my anxiety about the allergy override my compassion. Brooke was trying to do something kind, and I made her feel unwelcome in my home. That was wrong."

Rhodes blinked. He'd been braced for a fight, and I'd just disarmed him. "Oh. I—yeah. Thank you. That means a lot."

"How is she?"

"Shaken up. The ER said her ear is fine, but the hearing aid is totaled. She's devastated. She has midterms next week, and without it..." He trailed off, the implication clear. I was supposed to offer to pay for it.

I didn't.

Instead, I set down my coffee and folded my hands, the gesture I used in boardrooms when I was about to close a deal.

"I want to make this right," I said. "Not with money. With opportunity. King Corp has an opening in our compliance department. Entry-level, but it's a real position with real responsibility. I'd like to offer it to Brooke. I'll mentor her personally. Help her build the kind of resume that opens doors."

Rhodes stared at me. I watched the gears turn behind his eyes—suspicion, hope, the desperate need to believe I'd learned my lesson.

"You're serious."

"Completely. She deserves a chance to prove herself. And I need to prove that I'm not the person you accused me of being last night."

His shoulders sagged with relief. He stood, crossed to me, pulled me into a hug that felt like absolution he didn't deserve to give.

"Thank you," he breathed into my hair. "This is—God, Sav, this is exactly what she needs. You won't regret this."

I hugged him back, my chin resting on his shoulder, my eyes open and clear.

"I know," I said.