Brad didn’t remember driving.
All he knew was one moment he was in Andrew Best’s penthouse, his world crashing into pieces with a single phone call, and the next, he was standing outside Amelia’s apartment door, fists clenched at his sides, his pulse pounding like thunder in his ears.
She said yes.
She said yes.
Those words wouldn’t stop ringing in his head.
Not to him. Not to the man who had stood by her, after her panic attacks, during sleepless nights with Oliver. Not to the man who gave her a ring, who made promises and begged her to leave the past behind.
But to Andrew. The man who started all of this.
The man Brad had just warned.
His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as he raised his hand and knocked.
Not gently. Not politely.
This was not a polite moment.
Inside,
