He looks relieved.
Relieved.
My stomach twists.
“What?” I laugh faintly. “You didn’t think I’d drink it?”
Noah exhales a slow, shaky breath, eyes flicking away from mine.
I freeze.
That’s when I see it.
Not a big movement.
Not dramatic.
Just…the faintest trace of powder still clinging to the lip of the glass.
A tiny chalky smear.
Barely visible.
But unmistakable.
My blood runs cold.
My heartbeat stutters.
I pull the glass back slowly, staring at the rim, at the faint white residue dissolving into the liquor.
I look at Noah.
Really look at him.
He’s standing too stiff.
Breathing too shallow.
Watching me with a hunger that isn’t lust.
Control.
Fear slides up my throat.
Then fury hits like a hammer.
“What did you put in this?”
My voice shakes.
Not from weakness.
From the effort not to explode.
He goes still.
Dead still.
