“Unless someone heard us,” he finished quietly. “At the lake.”
“Or someone you told.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” His voice was low, urgent. “Zara, I haven’t told a single person what you said to me that night. Not Ethan, not Marcus, not anyone. That conversation hasn’t left my head since it happened.”
She believed him. That was the strange, frightening part she believed him completely, without hesitation, which meant the alternative was worse: someone had heard them. At the lake. In the dark, by the water, in the one moment that had felt entirely private.
“Someone was there,” she said slowly. “The same night as the photograph. The hair, the four words — did he enjoy it. They didn’t just see us. They were close enough to hear.”
Noah reached for her hands, holding them both in his, his thu
