Aimee’s POV
I feel like my feet are glued to the floor. Our eyes lock and my heart started beating faster. Clinton makes his presence known by stepping in my side. I know he wants to comfort me but instead, I feel more nervous. I notice how Clyver’s gazes are diverted from me to his brother. Suddenly, his face darkens. His long sleeves are folded up to his elbow and I watch how the veins in his arms protrude when his grip tightens on his phone. If I do not know him, I’ll probably think he will hurt me.
My son, Amler, ran back at me. With his innocent-looking eyes, he points in Clyver’s direction.
“Mom, that man is bad! I heawr him cuwrse. He said the wowd ‘f*ck’.”
Clyver’s sight drop to my son—our son. Behind his cold gaze and furrowed brows, I see the pain through his eyes. He made a
