FORTY-FIVE.

Sucking in a razor-sharp breath, I take a step back. “He was gay,” I whisper. “And he couldn't father children of his own because he was infertile.” A single tear rolls down my face, creating a new trail of heartache.

The heartache that I feel for him for losing the love of his life and watching his daughter grow up, calling another man papà.

His face turns red, and he bites down on his index finger, trying to mask the roar that is threatening to erupt from his loins.

“I told you not to believe a word that left his mouth. He is trying to mindfuck us both, and you are letting him.” He snarls cruelly, which makes me cower before him.

“Find him and ask him for yourself. You had to be there to see the truth in his eyes.” I attempt to reason with him.

“I can't ask him.” He bitterly snaps.

I watch as he drags both his hands over his face and exhales with a murmured growl.

I scoff at the realization that he killed my captor.

“You murdered him, didn't you?” My brows knit together w