On the other end of the line, Anthony's knuckles whitened around his phone.
"James, what are you doing to Clara?" he demanded through gritted teeth.
James let out a mirthless laugh. "I was about to ask you the same thing. Why have you been cozying up to her—and sending me those photos? What's your angle?"
Clara, who'd been fuming over James's controlling attitude and reaching for the phone, froze mid-motion.
Anthony took a steadying breath, his voice dripping with forced calm. "I don't owe you explanations. Give Clara the phone."
With a derisive snort, James cut him off mid-sentence and tossed the phone back to Clara.
She gaped at him, thunderstruck. "Wait... you're saying Anthony sent you those photos of us?"
"Obviously."
"But that makes no sense! Why would he—"
"To get under my
