---- Chapter 4. To be honest, I hadn't expected Henry, who'd always played the absentee husband, to react this way. Perhaps my recent defiance had finally caught his attention. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes before he seized my wrist. "What the hell are you trying to do?" I opened my mouth to answer when Tamara's shriek cut through the air. Henry instantly dropped my phone and sprinted toward the sound. I picked up my phone, calmly finalized the payment for my flight, and only then walked backstage. Broken frames littered the floor. Tamara lay sprawled on the ground, her wrist ---- bleeding from a wooden splinter. "Mr. Shepherd! My hand! What if I can never paint again?" She sobbed. "Mrs. Shepherd told me to organize these. "T didn't know the frames would fall! I was so careful! Did I do something wrong?" Henry cradled her injured hand, his eyes reddening. Then he whipped his head toward me. "Are you satisfied now, Rosalind?" he roared. "'Tamara's my assistant. She only handles my personal items. Why the hell would you assign her heavy labor? What's your game? "I tolerated your drunken antics for years, but now you've sunk to victimizing innocent people?" Ignoring the skeptical stares around us, I kept my voice steady. "I didn't ask her to come. I was just- ---- "Oh, of course you wouldn't come here yourself!" he spat. "You control every damn thing in my studio so you could've sent anyone to do your dirty work! "Apologize to Tamara now, or I'm calling the police." A bitter laugh escaped me. I was about to agree, to demand they check the surveillance footage, when Tamara threw her arms around Henry, desperately pleading with him not to call the police. And whatever Tamara said, Henry obeyed without question. "Fine. Tamara doesn't want me to report this," he hissed through gritted teeth. "But that doesn't mean you' re getting away with it!"