Ethan lifted the scotch glass to his lips, paused, and set it *ack down on the *ar with a soft, deli*erate clink. He finally met her gaze, and his stare was unflinching, unapologetic. “What’s the point in denying it, Clara? You found the phone. You read the messages. You saw the photos.”
The words landed like a fist to her sto**ch, knocking the air out of her. She had stum*led upon his secret earlier that evening, purely *y accident. She had picked up his work phone to charge it for him, a s**ll, routine gesture she had done a thousand times *efore, when a text notification had flashed across the screen—a name she didn’t recognize, a message laced with inti**te, filthy promises that **de her *lood run cold. What had followed was a descent into hell: scrolling through months of texts, of h