Melanie lifted a brow. “So you deny throwing the shoe to protect her from an embarrassing debut?”
Frankie set her jaw. “Do I look like the sacrificial type?”
“Fair enough,” Melanie said. “Our viewers are very invested in this next question. Vegas has odds.” She let the pause stretch. “Was itNaked Runwaywho placed you on an indefinite leave after your very public meltdown?”
The words went off like a charge.
Something in Frankie splintered. The story she had polished to a shine began to unravel, right there on Main Street.
Shame burned hot in her chest, and for the first time in years, she had no comeback. Just Frankie Peterson,exposed and breakable, standing in vintage T-straps on ground she had started to trust.
Her gaze swept the crowd. Marcus.
She had avoided looking for him. He knew too much, and lying was harder when someone saw every crack. But now she searched anyway.
Because for the first time in her life, she wanted to be rescued.
Two weeks apart and he had come back with apologies and gentle hands. He’d made her believe, stupidly, recklessly, that maybe this time someone would stay.
Now he was gone.
When she needed him most, he’d vanished. It landed like an open-hand sting.
“Shall I take your silence to mean no—”
“Shame on you!” Ziggy’s voice cracked the square.
Heads turned as he strutted into the light, finger wagging at Melanie like it had its own license. “This woman’s brilliance is being dimmed by your camera lens, and I will not watch it another second.”
Before she could breathe, he had her tucked to his side.
Frankie exhaled, the knot in her throat loosening, but not gone.
Marcus had disappeared. He’d left her hunted and alone, the one person who could have made it easier. The worst part? She had believed he was the kind of man who stayed. Someone she could trust. Someone she could pin a hope to.
She’d been wrong. Her father had walked away once. Marcus had just done the same.
Ziggy stayed. Loud, loyal, ridiculous, steady. He was the friend who helped you bury the body, no questions asked.
Marcus was not.
Chapter 40
Marcus slammed the manor’s front door and reached for the bolt, then froze. Locking it felt pointless. Frankie wouldn’t knock. Not if she was coming for blood…and he deserved every drop she spilled.
He left the bolt and stalked to the kitchen. Boards protested. The fridge offered nothing but cold light. He slammed it shut. He had walked away when the camera turned. Old training took the wheel.Family first. Always.The words made his gut corkscrew. Gi Gi had drilled that into them from the start, long before the papers made them a family. Protect each other first or risk losing everything.
If Melanie connected dots, the fallout wouldn’t stop at him. It would jump the line to his brothers. He could hear Gi Gi’s warning.Protect each other or prepare for death.His mouth tasted like metal.
He hadn’t even said goodbye. Left her alone in the blast radius and ran.
The door crashed. The house flinched. His gut dropped.
“Marcus!” Her voice cracked through the hall, sharp, furious, impossible to ignore.
Footsteps charged toward the kitchen.
She appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, one arm raised like Lady Vengeance with a dangerously elegant T-strap heel from Gatsby’s personal collection clutched like a weapon.
