“You just… woke up wearing a necklace I’ve never seen before?”
I swallow.
“I must have found it last night. I don’t remember?—”
“You don’t remember a lot of things from last night, do you?”
His thumb brushes the hollow of my throat.
It should feel intimate.
It feels like he’s checking for a pulse he already knows he controls.
I try to inhale.
It stutters.
Noah steps even closer, the air between us collapsing.
“You were drunk. You were emotional. You were out of control.”His voice lowers, a steel wire pulled tight. “And you know I hate it when you’re out of control.”
The words hit like a warning wrapped in affection — Noah’s favourite brand of manipulation.
I clench my jaw.
His hand moves to my waist, sliding over the robe, fingertips pressing just a little too firmly into my hipbone.
“You worried me,” he says. “Do you know that?”
The softness is fake.
But it sinks its hooks in anyway.
I hate how good he is at this.
I hate how practiced.
How precise.
He waits for my answer.
I give him nothing.
His lips brush my temple.
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on with you,” he murmurs. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait. I’ll pull it out of you if I need to.”
My stomach twists.
I feel sick.
His hand slides behind me, splaying across my lower back like ownership branded in heat.
“And that phone?” His gaze flicks toward it, still glowing faintly on the vanity. “You’re going to open your notifications and tell me exactly who that was.”
My blood runs cold.
“Noah—”
