She looked like she was the one who just found out she had a child.
Like she was the one with a hole blasted through her chest.
But no. She’d known.
She’d always known.
Amber had my child—and she hid her from me.
Rage boiled up so hot and fast, it rattled my bones. My fists clenched. My jaw locked.
I wanted to scream. To tear the room apart. To grab her and slam my hands on the desk and demand answers.
But I didn’t.
I reeled it in. Barely.
Only the scent patch on my neck kept my pheromones from flooding the room. Without it, I would’ve dominated the air and brought her to her knees. Not by choice—but by instinct. By rage.
She finally moved.
Amber blinked, snapped out of her haze, and rushed over to the little girl.
“Evalie, sweetie,” she said gently, crouching to meet her at ey
