He raised his eyes to meet hers, and for the first time in years, he let himself say her name aloud. “Aria.” The word was a low, venomous hiss, laced with all the bitterness he’d been holding back.
His once immaculate suit now ruined by the wine Aria had so deliberately spilled. The deep red stain glaring, a vivid symbol of the mess he had made of everything between them. His jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain control, to keep his emotions from spilling over like the wine on his suit.
Aria shook her head slowly, her voice dripping with venom. “No, you do not get to do that, Henri,” she spat, her words slicing through the tense silence. “You do not get to say my name like it means something to you. Like you mean something to me. Not after everything.”
Henri’s expression darkened,
