I should have gone back upstairs. I should have stayed hidden. But curiosity—and pride—anchored me to the staircase. I wanted to see her, to measure myself against the woman who thought she still owned him.
She moved with the elegance of a predator, her perfume curling through the air like smoke. It was expensive, suffocating, the kind that lingered long after she was gone.
“I can smell it, Damien,” she purred, circling him like a cat. “A new scent. Sweet. Younger.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve been busy.”
He stiffened, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “Leave it alone.”
But she only smiled. “Oh, darling, I never leave anything alone.”
I held my breath as her gaze flicked toward the staircase. For a moment, I thought she saw me—her eyes lingered, sharp and knowing.
