“No,” Noah says instantly. “It’s not enough. Not when half your mind is still with him.” His voice breaks—not weak, but furious, like I’ve insulted him at the cellular level. “I told you,” he says, stepping closer, chest brushing mine, “I won’t compete.”
“I never asked you to.”
“No,” he bites out. “You just expect me to ignore it.”
I shove his chest—not hard, but hard enough.
“Is that what you think? That I want this? That I want to feel like I’m losing my mind?”
“You are losing your mind,” he snarls. “And it’s because of him.”
Time stops.
Something inside me twists—old, buried, sharp.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s because of you.”
The words hit him like a slap.
His jaw flexes. His chest rises sharply. His hand curls against the wall beside my head, fingers trembling with restrained anger.
Then he steps back.
Just one step.
Enough to make the air between us volatile.
“You’re done arguing,” Noah says. “Go upstairs.”
“No.”
His eyes go cold. “Scarlett.”
“I said no.”
The silence after that is thick. Dangerous. Electric.
He moves first—slow, like a predator deciding which part of you to bite.
“I will not watch you fall apart over a man who should’ve stayed locked up,” he says quietly. “I won’t.”
“I’m not falling apart,” I whisper.
But my voice betrays me.
Noah hears it.
He always hears it.
“That’s the problem,” he says. “You think you’re holding yourself together, but I see the cracks.” He steps closer again. “You smell like fear tonight,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You came home shaking. You looked through me all night like you were waiting for someone else to show up.”
I swallow hard.
Noah’s voice drops lower.
“It wasn’t him.”
He’s right.
