The sound of the slammed drawer echoed through the small apartment like a gunshot.
Julia stood by the table, the unopened envelope clutched in her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was low at first—shaking, wounded.
Brandon turned from the sink, startled, his shirt half-buttoned, damp hair dripping from his shower. When he saw what she held, his expression hardened. “You went through my things?”
“That’s what you’re angry about?” she snapped, holding up the envelope. “Not the fact that your father’s still pulling your strings?”
He exhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “It was nothing. I didn’t even open it.”
“But you kept it,” she said. Her voice rose, cutting through the air like glass. “You said you hung up. You made me believe you were done with him—done with t
