Damian

It was him. Arianna’s husband.

His hand closed around my wrist not violently, but with a grip that pinned me in place. He didn’t tell. Didn’t make a scene. Instead, he stilled, his eyes locking on mine with quiet, dangerous precision.

“If you want him so badly,” he murmured, voice like a lethal sim, “why are you still wearing my ring?”

The question hit harder than yelling ever could.

“You can say his name all you want,” he went on, leaning in close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, “but your body just reached for me.”

I yanked my hand back like...