Miranda stepped closer, voice calm enough to be cruel.
“You think this is about his art. About his feelings. About his little dream of being discovered in some sticky-floored club where people throw napkins and call it authenticity.” Her gaze sharpened. “This is business.”
My jaw clenched.
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s his life.”
Miranda’s smile vanished.
“And you,” she said, “are becoming a very expensive distraction from it.”
The words landed like a slap.
Landon immediately stepped forward.
“Mom—”
“No,” she snapped, looking only at me. “You want to play house with him? Fine. But do not mistake your place in this.”
I felt my whole body go cold.
Because there it was.
Not hidden.
Not dressed up.
Not subtle.
Just the truth.
She didn’t think I was temporary because she was unsur
