Silence.
I stood frozen, the folder still open in my hands. The glossy photos and forged letters stared up at me like a pile of venomous snakes. My throat tightened. I tried to speak, but the words tangled somewhere between disbelief and fury.
Amir sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles went white. He looked like someone had punched the air out of him. “I can’t believe she’d go this far,” he whispered.
I finally exhaled — a shaky, uneven breath that sounded more like a sob that I refused to let out. I set the folder down as if it might burn my fingers. “She’s framing you,” I said, voice trembling. “She actually… she actually did this.”
Amir didn’t look up. “I told you everything about my past. Everything. But this—” His voice cracked
