Grace’s POV
By the time we pulled into the parking garage that morning, I’d made a silent vow to keep my mouth shut around Hunter Sinclair about his marriage.
No more questions. No more concern. No more getting caught in the crossfire of whatever was going on in that marriage. I was just the assistant. The surrogate. Nothing more. Like I had said before—all couples have fights. It was best if I stayed out of it.
After our run-in in the kitchen, the air between us on the drive had been thick with unsaid things. Not angry, exactly. Just... muted. He hadn’t spoken unless it was about work. I hadn’t dared say a word that didn’t involve schedules or reports. It was easier that way. Safer. Cleaner. Like slipping back into a role I actually understood.
Still, I couldn’t stop replaying the loo
