Aria’s hand trembled around the porcelain mug, the tea inside long gone cold. The soft murmur of Knox’s voice spilled through the hallway—clipped, low, guttural.
“You can’t make me choose—don’t do this to her.”
She froze. Her heartbeat turned into a hollow drumbeat against her ribs. Her fingers tightened around the mug until the ceramic creaked beneath her grip. He was in his office. On the phone. She couldn’t hear the other voice, but she didn’t need to.
She knew.
The words—don’t do this to her—rang in her ears like a scream. A warning. A confession.
She slowly set the mug down on the countertop, the click of ceramic against marble echoing in the silence of the penthouse. The kind of silence that followed betrayal.
Knox didn’t come out of the office after the call.
And for the firs
