“You call that a thank you? Honestly, he might as well have tried to stab me right in the heart.”
People always say jealous women are scary, but honestly, jealous men aren’t any better.
“Is that right?” Newell’s eyes turned cold. “With status like yours, am I supposed to be happy for you?”
“You should be,” Anthony replied, meeting Newell’s stare head-on, not even flinching.
Newell’s smile faded right off his face.
The tension between them was thick enough to cut. They didn’t need sharp words. The air was already charged with something electric.
“If I hadn’t worn a disguise back then, if I hadn’t let her see me as just some older guy from the beginning... maybe you never would have had the chance,” Newell said, his voice rough, pulling at a corner of his mouth. “I did meet her first, didn’t I?”
“You’re wrong.” Anthony’s eyes flashed, and a sly, confident smile curled on his lips. “Even if you’d been yourself, Lottie still wouldn’t have picked you.”
Charlotte had joked more than once that Newell wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes.
“And besides...” Anthony cut in before Newell could get a word out. His voice was cool, almost casual. “You weren’t the first one to meet Lottie. I was.”
“What?” Newell’s eyes narrowed, his confusion showing. “Didn’t you two meet last year?”
“No,” Anthony answered simply. “When she was fifteen, her adoptive father sent her to a psychiatric hospital. She went through hell. I was there, and I reached out to her.”
Cabinda. The psych hospital.

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