a felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She kept h

as gone, replaced by something colder, more co

his sofa. It wasn't an invitation to sit. It was a summons. The hum

his jaw. He shot Clara a warning look, but

ading through thick mud. She stopped beside him, deliberately leaving a full arm's length

ore vanishing. He leaned back into the sofa, the pictur

s tone deceptively light, "what was all the drama a

ess, a verbal brand that tied her directly to Ethan,

e stammered, his usual composure gone. "Just a misunderstanding. Brooke... she accidentally took a picture of you, Julian.

drumming a silent, steady rhythm on the arm of the sof

king my picture? That's it?" He let the pathetic excuse hang in the air. Then his gaze flickered bet

ret everyone knew, the foundation of Ethan's power

red against her rib

swallowed. His eyes darted away, u

f you are, you're not doing a very good job of it. Letting anoth

everyone to see. Clara's cheeks burned. It was a strange, dizzying feeling-to be so publi

es moved to Clara. They were cold, devoid of any warmth, any hist

urally clear. "You heard

, she had dreamed of this engagement ending, but not like this. To have it, and by extension, her, publicl

face lit up with undis

ling nothing. He was the one who had lit the match, a