Slowly—
I turned back to face her.
“Your husband?” I asked quietly.
Her chin lifted, anger sharpening into something more dangerous.
Possession.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Mine.”
I studied her for a second.
Then I set the glass down.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
Like the moment deserved precision.
And that’s when we all heard it.
A voice from the doorway.
Low.
Controlled.
Sharp enough to silence everything else.
“What exactly is going on here?”
Vanessa turned instantly—confident, ready, already expecting to be defended.
But I didn’t need to turn.
I knew that voice.
I had lived beside it.
