“I do,” I reply. “Because you don’t get to corner someone and call it a conversation.”
He straightens, shoulders squaring. “Do you even know who I am?”
The words click into place then.
The way Delaney was frozen. The fear that wasn’t panic, but memory. The shame layered under it.
“You’re Marcus,” I say.
His brows lift. Surprise flickers, then satisfaction.
“So she did tell you something.”
I don’t look back at her. I don’t need to.
“She told me enough,” I say. “She protected herself.”
His smile thins. “Is that what she calls it now?”
I feel heat crawl up my spine, old and familiar.
“You don’t get to rewrite what you did,” I say quietly. “You don’t get to follow her and pretend you’re the injured party.”
“I built her,” he snaps. “I gave her everything.”
“She earned everything,” I shoot back. “You just took credit.”
He laughs again, but it’s brittle now. The street has slowed. People are watching. And predators hate witnesses.
“You think she’s innocent?” he presses. “Ask her how she climbed the ladder. Ask her how many nights she spent…”
I take another step forward.
He stops talking.
“I don’t care what story you tell yourself,” I say. “But you will not speak to her again.”
“She ruined my reputation,” he snarls. “She owes me.”
Delaney makes a small sound behind me. Not a word. Just a breath breaking.
I plant myself fully in front of her.
“She owes you nothing,” I say. “And if you ever come near her again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Uncertainty flickers across his face. Then calculation. He scans the street. The people. The phones.
“This isn’t over,” he says to her.
“It is,” I snap.
He hesitates longer than he wants to.
Then he backs away, muttering something under his breath before disappearing down the sidewalk.
I don’t move until he’s gone.
Not until the pressure in my chest eases just a fraction.
