Sandra's lips curled into a mocking smirk. Men—so damn fickle. Yesterday he'd been preaching morality while rejecting advances, today he was reigniting old flames.
What a joke—she might as well be a trophy wife collecting dust.
"Oh." Her voice fell toneless. "Noted."
Mr. Champion's knuckles whitened around his fork at her indifference.
Across the table, Mikeia's designer nails carved half-moons into her palms. After years as the undisputed star, this humiliation—being treated like background noise—was unbearable.
Seizing Welby's arm, Sandra squared her shoulders like a boxer entering the ring. "I was grabbing dinner with someone. Hence the absence." Her chin lifted defiantly though her pulse raced.
She knew exactly how he despised her closeness to Welby. Knew this was about control.
