Cyrus
I didn’t even join their dinner. Cain invited me, of course—grinning like this whole thing with the Billies was some political win. But I wasn’t about to sit there and pretend I didn’t notice Rachel Billies eye-f*****g me from across the table like I was her next conquest.
So, I skipped it. Chose silence. Solitude. Anything but her perfume, her performance, and the way Cain looks at her like she’s his shot at something real.
Except the universe must’ve thought I was too calm.
Because here I am in the damn bathroom, staring at my reflection, and she follows me in like this is her scene.
“I hope you know I wouldn’t like marrying your brother while I’m actually interested in you,” she says, voice smooth, lips curling like she thinks this is seductive.
I don’t even blink. Just wipe
