“Do what?”
“Pretend this isn’t serious.”
He gestures at the knife—sharp, gleaming, sitting there like an accusation.
“Someone mailed you a weapon. With an insult on it.”
I tilt my head. “Insult is a strong word.”
He stares.
Not amused.
Not charmed.
Not convinced.
“Scarlett, the knife says liar.”
I let out a soft, nervous laugh—too high-pitched, too bright—as if that could mask the way the room feels suddenly smaller.
“Noah, it’s fine. People send strange things when?—”
He cuts me off, voice dropping.
“When what?”
I swallow.
“When you’re in the public eye. When they see the engagement online. When they?—”
“Bullshit.”
My spine stiffens.
He reaches for the box, snaps it shut, and holds it up between us like the world’s most pointed question.
“Someone knows you,” he says, quieter, but not gentler. “Knows you well enough to send this. So tell me—who?”
His jealousy isn’t loud.
It’s focused.
Bright.
Burning behind his eyes like he’s trying to carve the truth out of me with his stare.
Inside my chest, panic scrapes its nails down my ribs.
Kai’s name sits on the tip of my tongue.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Locked behind my teeth.
But I swallow it.
