Rosa stood rooted in place as Marcus disappeared into the corridor, her hand still loosely holding the champagne flute, though the liquid inside now rippled with the tremble of her grip.
He didn’t even flinch.
Not at the threat. Not at the loss of power. Not even at her.
She stared at the space he’d left behind, her breath sharp and uneven.
How dare he.
After everything she’d orchestrated—every sacrifice she’d made to secure their position—he still wanted that... She wolf b***h.
He was choosing her.
Rosa’s nails dug into the stem of the glass until it cracked softly under her grip.
Let him go. Let him play his quiet rebellion. If Marcus wanted to tear himself away from everything they’d built together, she would make sure he regretted it.
And then she remembered.
Fiona.
She ha
