He sees too much.
He always has.
I lift my chin, give him a flawless smile that could be printed in bridal magazines. “I’m acting like a woman who got a creepy gift before breakfast and doesn’t want to ruin the day.”
Noah studies me—blue eyes flicking from my mouth to my pulse point to the knife.
Jealousy coils under his skin like smoke.
Possessive.
Dark.
Almost feral.
He steps closer.
“So who sent it?”
I meet his stare with perfect serenity.
Even though inside, I swear I hear Kai’s voice whisper across my nerves:
You know.
You always fucking know.
I smile wider.
“I have no idea.”
Noah doesn’t move.
Not for a full five seconds.
He just stands there, jaw ticking, eyes flicking between my face and the velvet box like he’s trying to decide whether to pull me close or interrogate me until I crack.
The air feels tight—thick—crowded with something simmering.
Possessiveness.
He steps closer.
I feel it before I see it—the shift in him, the weight of his body cut sharper by anger, the heat rolling off him in dense waves.
He plants both palms on the marble island, caging the box in, caging me in.
“Scarlett,” he says, voice low, threaded with something dark, “tell me who sent it.”
My heart kicks once, too hard.
I smile like a woman who’s never lied a day in her life.
“I don’t know.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check and not doing a very good job of it.
“Don’t do that.”
