Brad stood outside Claire’s apartment for what felt like an eternity, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, breath steaming in the chill of morning. The city was barely awake, but his pulse had been hammering since Amelia shoved him out of her house like a stranger.
Like he was trash.
All over a damn bracelet.
And now he was here. Because someone needed to answer for this—really answer for it. And there was only one person who could.
He raised his hand and knocked, sharp and deliberate.
It didn’t take long for the door to swing open.
Claire stood there barefoot, in leggings and an oversized sweater, her dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, eyes puffy like she’d been sleeping—or crying. But when she saw Brad, her expression changed instantly. Not surprise. Not fear.
Satisfaction.
