The moment I saw the name flashing on his screen—Dora—something inside me twisted sharply.
Not anger.
Not exactly jealousy.
Just… a cold, piercing ache that spread through my chest like ice water, stealing my breath.
I didn’t want him to answer.
Childish.
I knew it was childish.
But this was jealousy—raw, quiet, and impossible to ignore.
He picked up anyway.
Eyes never leaving mine.
Hand still resting warm and possessive on my waist—thumb brushing once, slow, deliberate against my side like he could feel the shift in me.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Dora’s voice came through—bright, easy, intimate—like she had every right to sound that familiar.
“Dora,” he replied—calm, even—but his grip on my waist tightened just a fraction, grounding me.
“Vincent, you’re not at home. I’m standing in f
