The door chimed again. Viola didn’t even look up at first—until the familiar weight of his presence filled the room.
Mack.
His eyes swept the coffee shop in a single, deliberate pass before landing on her. Whatever faint smile had touched his lips on entry vanished when he saw her face. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something dark passing through his expression. He didn’t need to ask what happened—he already knew.
He didn’t come to her table right away. Instead, he crossed the room with a calm, predatory stride, heading straight for the corner where Ethan sat with his wife. The woman’s heavily painted face tried to hide the sharp, brittle edges beneath—makeup piled on like a mask, but it couldn’t disguise the mean curl of her lips or the shallow gleam in her eyes.
Mack stopped at the
