The room feels too small. The walls too close.
Alex's voice, his betrayal, echoes in my ears like a gunshot.
"How can one single mistake get that dirty cleaner pregnant? I need the baby. Not her."
The recording stops. The silence is suffocating.
I stare at him, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. Did I hear that right?
Alex's face has lost all color, his lips parting as if scrambling for a defense. There is none.
Michael leans back against the couch, looking far too amused, far too satisfied with the chaos he's just unleashed. "Well, brother," he drawls, stretching like a lazy cat. "Care to explain?"
Alex blinks, snapping out of his shock. "Emma, listen—"
I move before I even think.
The glass of water on the table—I grab it, launch it straight at him.
It shatters against his shoulder, water splashing down his crisp shirt. The sound cuts through the tension like a blade.
