Julian’s fingers were still gripping the collar of her blouse, his eyes narrowed on the dark, unmistakable hickey. The entire dinner table had gone silent. Forks hovered mid-air. Luna paused near the doorway, tray in hand, pretending not to listen.
“Bella… who gave you that hickey?” Julian demanded again, louder this time, his face flushing with a mix of confusion and rising anger.
Bella slowly pulled her collar back into place, her movements deliberate, almost serene. Inside, her pulse thundered, but the old panic was gone. Replaced by something sharper. Colder. She looked straight at her husband — the man who had barely touched her in months, who had been sneaking around with her own sister.
“Does it really matter, Julian?” she said, voice low but steady. “You haven’t put a mark on me
