Scarlett’s POV
The next morning, I smiled as if nothing had changed.
Because maybe nothing had. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the shadows play tricks, and silk robes look more scandalous in dim light, and a man’s shirt can hang open by accident.
But I wasn’t wrong.
I dressed with care, chose the soft ivory blouse with the delicate pearl buttons, elegant, understated. I did my makeup slowly, lips stained just enough to suggest calm. Measured. In control. No cracks.
Monica didn’t join us for breakfast. Jasper said she was “resting in,” with the same offhand tone he might use to describe a stray breeze or a passing mood. I nodded, my fork gliding over the edge of my plate, untouched.
I waited until he left the room before I let my gaze slip toward the hallway she’d come from.
If she wanted
