RHEA
“Pardon me, Ms. Ashford, but have we met before?”
I let my outstretched hand fall back to my side, fingers curling awkwardly. So—no handshakes. That’s fine. His question takes a second to register, mostly because it feels oddly familiar.
“I don’t believe we have.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking once as he studies my face like he’s scanning a file that won’t load properly. For a strange moment, I think he suspects I’m lying. But then he exhales through his nose, pulls out his chair, and sits, gesturing to the one across from him.
“Forgive me. Have a seat. You just look… familiar.”
I move stiffly and sit. His gaze drifts—slow, clinical—until it lands on the birthmark beneath my eye. My fingers twitch in my lap, fighting the instinct to hide it. What is it with these brothers a
