Sylvia's POV
I sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed tight, doing everything I could not to look at Caesar. His gaze was like a furnace—hot, unrelenting, and way too close to cracking my composure.
Inside me, my wolf was howling.
She hated this—hated the silence, the uncertainty.
“You seriously don’t get what I’m talking about?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I meant it to be, but screw it—I was pissed. “She’s literally living in your house, Caesar. I’m not imagining things. You brought her in, and now you’re pretending it’s no big deal?”
Men. Always acting dumb when it’s convenient.
Then I saw it—that flicker of realization in his eyes, the moment the puzzle clicked into place. Helena. He finally got it.
I expected him to look guilty. Or at least flustered.
