Venessa’s POV
“We need to talk, Venessa.”
The moment he said it, my throat tightened. Being alone with Denzel in a locked room was dangerous for my heart, for my control. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself not to unravel.
He gestured toward the couch, offering me a seat. I obeyed, settling there quietly. He didn’t join me. Instead, he sat at the foot of the bed, deliberately keeping distance between us. I understood why he was doing it for me, giving me space, allowing me to breathe. The consideration only made this harder.
“The day you linked me and asked me to meet you in the deserted part of the service quarters,” he began, “you said you saw two people together.”
My stomach knotted painfully.
“Did you know who they were?” he asked.
I shook my head immediately.
“If you didn’t know,”
