Jynelle didn’t scream at first. She just blinked. Once. Twice. Like her soul had to recalibrate itself before launching the full opera. She was in a headscarf, no bra, holding a spoon and an open jar of peanut butter like she had plans to cry into it later… and I knew the second I said Ryan’s name, I’d made a mistake so large it deserved its own documentary series.
“You what?” she said. Still quiet. Still spooned.
“I met him,” I muttered. “Last night. He said he needed to talk.”
She paused, blinked again, then very gently placed the peanut butter on the counter like she was about to throw it at my head but decided to be merciful. “You met Ryan. Alone. In a hotel. After everything. After the necklace. After the PR ambush. After Daphne’s countdown. Alone.”
“It wasn’t like that...”
“It’s
