Nobody moves.
I glance down at myself, suddenly aware of how sheer this cardigan is in direct sunlight. The lace of my bralette does absolutely nothing to hide my nipples, and these shorts might as well be underwear.
“Morning,” I say, because what else do you say when you've just walked into your own ambush wearing next to nothing?
Camille's eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate. Her lip curls. “Interesting outfit choice.”
“Thanks.” I shift the bundle of clothes in my arms, using them as a makeshift shield. “I dress for comfort, not approval.”
Atlas barks out a laugh. “Damn.”
Punk doesn't look up from her phone, but I catch the smirk tugging at her mouth.
Asher's gaze hasn't left me. It's heavy, possessive, tracking every inch of exposed skin like he's remembering for later. His jaw flexes.
Camille notices. Of course she does.
She steps closer to him, fingers tightening on his arm as she tilts her head up, angling for his attention. “Baby, we still need to talk about the gala next week. Your mother wants us back after the ceremony, so I'll book the jet to come at say, eleven?”
“Yeah.” Asher's voice comes out flat. He doesn't look at her.
She pouts, leaning into him. “You're not even listening.”
“I'm listening.”
“Then look at me.”
He does. Finally. And something in his expression shifts—something cold and dutiful that makes my chest tighten. He dips his head, and Camille rises on her toes, pressing her glossed lips to his.
The kiss is performative. Strategic. A claim staked in enemy territory.
My stomach twists. Heat floods my face, crawling down my neck and settling somewhere low and venomous. I should look away. I should walk past them, head held high, and pretend none of this matters.
Instead, I watch.
Camille's hand slides up his chest. Asher's stays at his sides.
When she pulls back, she's smiling. Victorious. She glances at me, and that smile sharpens into something cruel.
“Sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “Didn't mean to make things uncomfortable.”
I force my mouth into a smile. The kind that doesn't reach my eyes. The kind that saysI could bury you and no one would find the body.“Not uncomfortable at all. You two are adorable.”
Atlas groans from the couch, rubbing his face with both hands. “Oh god, here we go.”
Camille's smile falters. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Atlas waves a hand. “Just sensing the vibe shift. This might get awkward.”
I shrug, adjusting my grip on the clothes. My eyes slide to Asher, and I let every ounce of indifference I can muster settle into my expression. “Awkward? For what?”
Asher stares back. His fingers tighten around the mug.
“For it to be awkward,” I continue, voice light, conversational, “people would have to mean something.”
The air goes still.
Atlas whistles low under his breath. “Shit.”
