Aria lay there and stared at the ceiling.
I'll do what needs to be done.
She'd made a choice not to ask what that meant. Not because she didn't have opinions about it or feelings about it....she had plenty of both....but because she'd looked at his face and understood that there was nothing she could say that would change the answer, and more than that, nothing she was entirely sure she wanted to change.
Harold Ashford had poisoned her.
First he kinapped her and then he had deliberately introduced a compound into her system that was designed to kill her and had watched her deteriorate in a hospital room and had felt, she suspected, something closer to victory than remorse.
She'd spent two weeks in that hospital trying to be reasonable about it. Trying to frame it as a desperate man making desperate choices. Trying to see it as him taking revenge for what she did to his company, for exposing his crimes and making him go bankrupt.
She believed he was taking his revenge .
