Alec sat motionless on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his fists clenched so tightly that the veins in his hands bulged. The television still played Salena’s interview, now on a loop, but Alec wasn’t watching it anymore—he was consuming it, word by word, breath by breath, every flicker of her eyes on the screen slicing into him like invisible blades.
Damien’s words still echoed in his head like a ticking bomb.
“She called me for drinks.”
“She got too drunk.”
“I went to her penthouse to drop her.”
Every single sentence was a deliberate knife to his pride. Alec didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his silence was deadly, a storm holding its breath.
He had known what Salena was doing. She was pushing his buttons, playing her games, desperate to provoke a reaction. She knew him too
