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And there it is.

The final little cut.

For one horrible second, I don't have a comeback. Not because I don't know what she's doing.

Because I do.

And not because I believe her.

I don't.

But old wounds are assholes. You can spend years healing them and still discover they remember exactly how to hurt.

Then a man's voice comes from behind me.

Cold.

Controlled.

And very, very familiar.

“She is.”

Oh.

Shit.

I close my eyes.

Because somehow, of all the possible witnesses to this moment, it had to be Mitchell fucking Knight.

Chapter 9

Mitchell

“She is.”

Layla's shoulders stiffen.

The saleswoman looks past her and sees me. Everything about the too thin woman changes.

Fascinating.

Her posture straightens. Her expression brightens. And the condescending little twist to her mouth disappears so quickly you'd think I imagined it.

I didn't.

I heard every vile fucking word.

“Mr. Knight.”

Now she knows how to smile.

“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome,” she says then her gaze flicks to Layla and back to me. “Apologies, sir, I didn't realize⁠—”

“No,” I interrupt. “You didn't.”

Her smile falters. I walk toward them. Layla doesn't look at me. That's the first thing I notice.