The echoes of the gala still clung to the inside of Melinda’s skull like an expensive perfume that wouldn’t fade. She sat in James’s penthouse now barefoot, her dress discarded on the chaise, wrapped in a silk robe. The city stretched out beneath her, glittering like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just exposed years of pain with a few razor-edged sentences.
James stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped low around his waist. “You didn’t have to say all that,” he said, not accusing just observing.
Melinda looked at him from the balcony seat. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”
He approached her slowly, water glistening on his chest. “You burned Andrew alive in front of everyone. His reputation won’t recover.”
She gave a half smile. “Good.”
James studied her. “You’re dangerous.”
Meli
