Heat floods through my chest so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
Raelyn lets out a low whistle.
But before the moment can stretch any further, Mike shifts.
He brushes Anya’s hand off his arm.
It’s subtle and almost dismissive. Anya rolls her eyes and touches him again.
I don’t wait to see what happens next.
I move.
I cross the terrace with steady, measured steps, every movement deliberate, controlled.
Inside me, a storm is raging.
But no one here needs to see that.
By the time I reach them, the men have already noticed me approaching.
I step straight between Mike and Anya.
My shoulder slips past her as I physically insert myself into the space she occupied.
My hand comes up automatically, pushing her fingers away from Mike’s jacket sleeve.
The reaction across the terrace is immediate.
Not loud.
But noticeable.
Conversation softens. A few heads turn. The air shifts with a subtle ripple of tension.
Anya’s smile falters for half a second.
Then it sharpens.
Her eyes flick down to my hand, where it still rests lightly against Mike’s chest, before lifting to my face.
But I don’t move.
I stand exactly where I am.
Beside my husband.
Claiming a place I once rejected.
The silence stretches for a few seconds, thick with restrained hostility.
Anya’s gaze studies me carefully.
Measuring.
Calculating.
Then she exhales softly and smooths an imaginary crease in her dress.
