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At hers.
Which means whoever it is already has access to the apartment.
“Selene, are you in there?” a man’s voice calls.
Every muscle in my body locks.
A violent rush of fire surges through my chest, my pulse hammering so hard I can hear it roaring in my ears.
Jealousy slams into me with brutal force.
No.
It can’t be jealousy.
Possession.
Control.
The instinct to remove him from my space before he even takes another breath.
Selene slips past me and opens the door.
Standing there is the same man from the gala. The one she left with last night. The one who spent the night here.
The one she apparently trusted enough to hand a key to the apartment we share.
Without asking me.
Without even mentioning it.
She gave another man unrestricted access to my space.
My jaw tightens until it aches.
My gaze lands on her, accusation burning beneath the surface.
But what twists my stomach isn’t that she kept something like this from me.
It’s the sight of another man standing at her door, and the effortless familiarity between them.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t seem embarrassed.
She simply opens the door for him wearing nothing but a towel, like this is perfectly normal.
Like he’s seen her like this before.
The intimacy between them is impossible to ignore.
The second his eyes land on me, he instinctively takes two steps back.
Confusion flashes across his face first, then caution.
Not jealousy.
Shock.
