Rena’s POV
“I’m not wrong,” Armani says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “Believe me, I’ve thought this through.”
I don’t believe him.
Not really.
Something in the way he says it—so absolute, so determined—makes me wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself. His jaw is set, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes… His eyes give him away. There’s something there, something uncertain, something clawing at the edges of his confidence like a tide eroding the shore. And I shouldn’t care.
This isn’t about him.
It’s about me. About keeping him at a safe distance. About reminding myself that this is a business arrangement, not some fairytale romance.
I shift, suddenly too aware of the fact that I’m standing here in nothing but a robe, my bare skin far too exposed to his watchfu
