He didn't shout. That was what made it worse. Teddy Fox didn't need volume to be terrifying, he had silence and a stare that could strip you down to bone. He stood there at the threshold of his own penthouse, jaw set, shoulders rigid, that calm fury radiating off him like heat off glass. His mother sat at the marble counter, perfectly composed, her tea untouched. I was somewhere between them, still trying to process what the hell had just happened… her warning, her words echoing in my skull like a curse. If you stay with my son, you'll destroy him. Walk away while you still can.
She'd said it with love, not malice. That was the part that gutted me.
Teddy's eyes flicked between us, confusion turning to realization, then to something darker. "What exactly," he said quietly, "am I wal
