"How long," Declan said quietly, "have we been together?"
Sloane blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"You told the bar. My brother. Half the company." His voice was low, precise, a scalpel where most men used a hammer. "You said I was your boyfriend. So I'm asking — how long have we been together?"
She stared at him.
He's not asking about Cole. The realization hit her like cold water. He heard the name and he's still — he's asking about the bar. The
gossip. He's—
"Two years," she said, because it was the first number her panicking brain produced.
Declan's eyes narrowed.
He was doing math. She could see it — those dark eyes calculating, measuring, running timelines against each other. Three years
ago. The bar. The elevator. The night she'd spent three years outrunning. Two years. The gap betwe
