Ignoring his sullen expression, I continued to sneer. "Ariana Whitmore has manners? Openly being a mistress, shamelessly stealing another woman's man—Maxwell Harrington, what kind of upbringing makes your idea of decency so vastly different from mine?"
"Elara Marston!" He suddenly tightened his grip on my hand, temples throbbing, jaws clenched. Each word seemed forced from the depths of his throat: "You should be grateful I don't hit women."
I laughed, enduring the pain in my wrist that felt like it was about to shatter, and stared at him. "Mr. Marston is truly magnanimous. But could you please let go? Clutching a woman's hand like this is just as violent as striking her."
Maxwell was so enraged his temples pulsed violently, but he finally released me, his voice icy and brutal. "You hav
