“He changed the locks,” Wyatt says. “Restricted her accounts. Accelerated the foreclosure. Then he followed her to my cabin.”
Wade’s eyes sharpen, fury building. “He what?”
My stomach twists as the memories flash—orange notice on the glass, the taste of panic, Graham’s text: You’re welcome.
“He’s trying to shut down Devil’s Kiss,” I say quietly.
Wade’s voice goes lethal. “I’m going to kill him.”
Wyatt’s mouth tilts. “Take a number.”
Wade rounds on him. “You don’t get to be casual about this.”
Wyatt’s gaze holds, steady and cold. “I’m not casual. I’m contained.”
Wade jabs a finger toward Wyatt’s chest. “You went behind my back.”
Wyatt catches Wade’s wrist mid-jab, fast as a snap. Not rough—controlled. A boundary.
“Don’t,” Wyatt says.
Wade yanks free, eyes blazing. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own sister’s life.”
Wyatt’s jaw ticks. “She’s my wife.”
Silence drops like a weight.
My pulse is loud in my ears.
Wade’s eyes dart to me again, and I can see the war in his face—anger, loyalty, fear, and that protective brother instinct that’s always been both comforting and suffocating.
I step forward, shoulders squared. “I married him.”
Wade’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Why didn’t you call me the second Graham started pulling this?”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Because you were gone.”
“I’m gone all the time,” he snaps, desperation under the anger now. “That doesn’t mean?—”
“It meant it this time,” I cut in, voice sharper, hands curling into fists inside Wyatt’s too-big sleeves. “I was standing outside my shop locked out of my own life. My accounts were frozen. I couldn’t get my clothes. I couldn’t get my paperwork. I couldn’t get in to save my inventory. I had nowhere to go except… home.”
Wade stills.
The word home lands between us like a bruise.
“You know what ‘home’ is for me,” I add, quieter now. “It’s my mother telling me I should’ve gone to law school. It’s my father looking at me like I proved him right. It’s them smiling while I fall.”
Wade’s throat works. He looks away for half a second, like he can’t stand the picture.
Wyatt’s voice cuts in, calm and unfiltered. “Look.”
Wade snaps his gaze back to him, still angry. “Don’t?—”
Wyatt doesn’t let him interrupt. “You weren’t here. She was in trouble. I stepped up. I protected her. You should be thanking me.”
Wade stares at him, chest heaving.
Then his eyes shift to me again, and something in his expression changes—like the anger finally hits a wall and the truth leaks through.
