James was a shadow at the edge of the driveway, his hands jammed into his pockets, but the way his shoulders were set told me he’d been pacing. When our car rolled to a stop, his eyes locked on the masked man first, then on me, and something in his face changed recognition, fury, and jealousy all at once.
He took two hard steps toward the car.
“Mariam,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Get out.”
I hesitated, feeling the masked man’s fingers tighten on my knee. “Your husband,” he murmured, his tone a taunt under the mask. “He would remember me.”
James’s gaze flicked back to the man in the mask. “Darius,” he spat, as if the name tasted bad. “I knew you looked familiar. We met at the restaurant on our anniversary, and now you're after my wife, so pathetic.” The masked man tilted his
