—Natasha's POV—
The change in Zane was instantaneous and absolute. One moment he was the charming illusion he’d worn like a perfectly tailored suit; the next, that façade shattered, falling away in jagged pieces to reveal a man carved out of cold, hard purpose. His whole body seemed to tighten, his expression turning into something unreadable and remote. He didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t even look at me.
“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice a low whip-crack that cut clean through the morning calm. He tossed a handful of bills onto the table—carelessly, like the money meant nothing and I meant even less. It wasn’t just dismissal; it was erasure. I was no longer the center of his performance. I wasn’t even a footnote.
“Zane, wait—”
But he was already moving, his chair still rocki
