Lynn's POV
Charles staggers backward two full steps, hand flying to his nose. Blood wells across his upper lip. His eyes go wide—not with the cold calculation I remember from the yacht, not with the contempt he wore the night he and Amy laughed about staging my death—but with something that looks bizarrely, infuriatingly like genuine hurt.
Wounded confusion. Like I'm the one who did something to him.
My jaw tightens.
'He's out on bail,' I think, and the heat in my chest sharpens into something edged. The man who sat across from Amy and laughed about making my death look like an accident is free. Standing in my hallway. With roses.
He presses the back of his hand to his bleeding lip and looks at the blood like it personally betrayed him.
Then he looks at me.
"Lynn." His voice breaks
