JULIA
*29 years ago*
The day after the incident, I made sure to wear my tightest, lowest-cut black dress to dinner. Even Gabe’s father, who otherwise loathed my existence, couldn’t help his eyes as they skimmed the tops of my breasts.
Gabe clearly noticed, because at one point, during the meal, he leaned in, gripping my wrist under the table. “What are you wearing?” he hissed, his voice barely audible over the clink of silverware.
“What?” I fluttered my eyelashes and acted dumb. “Is there something wrong?”
He scowled but said nothing else, though his tension was palpable. Across the table, Lance’s sharp gaze found mine. Unlike his father or Gabe, his attention wasn’t rooted in lust. His eyes narrowed, assessing me, silently questioning me. I met his stare with a shrug and resumed eati
