Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Eight
Emily's POV
I'd known he'd come.
The moment Malachi walked out of that study, I knew he'd tell Travis. Knew he'd drop the information like a bomb and walk away to watch the fallout. That was Malachi's way. Cold. Calculated. Using people's emotions against them.
And Travis was predictable. Always had been.
He'd go to the grave. Of course he would. He needed proof. Needed to see with his own eyes that I wasn't in that casket. That the woman he'd mourned for five years had been alive the whole time.
So I waited.
I stood in the rain, watching him dig. Watching him tear through the earth with his bare hands like a man possessed. His clothes were soaked. Mud covered his face. He looked broken. Desperate.
Exactly how I'd wanted him to look.
I'd practiced this moment for years. Rehearsed what I'd say. How I'd stand. What expression I'd wear. I'd imagined his face when he saw me. Imagined the shock. The pain. The devastation.
