Grant

“You had Marissa’s fiancé over at your workplace?”

Her voice sliced through the quiet like a knife through silk.

I turned from the closet, shirt half-buttoned, pausing mid-motion. Aria was sprawled across the bed in nothing but her robe, damp curls tumbling down her shoulders, legs folded, the curve of one knee peeking through the slit. She dabbed lip balm on her mouth like she wasn’t accusing me of something mildly scandalous.

I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know ...