The car door clicked shut behind Emma, but Damien’s warmth lingered on her skin, a phantom touch that made her fingers rise unconsciously to the emeralds at her throat—his emeralds. The stones pulsed under her fingertips, alive with the memory of his hands brushing her neck as he fastened the clasp.
Why does this feel so real?
Her thought barely formed before the front door burst open.
Oliver stood framed in the foyer light, his posture rigid, fury coiled like a spring. The whiskey glass in his hand caught the illumination, scattering fractured amber shards across the marble floor.
Emma’s breath hitched. He had seen.
Three steps. That’s all she managed before his hand closed around her wrist like iron.
"Who the f**k was that?" His voice was venom even beneath the haze of alcohol.
Em
