The room is suffocating.
I feel the weight of their stares, their unspoken war pressing down on me, pulling me apart.
Michael's arm drapes over my shoulder like a claim, a statement. I feel the warmth of his body, the steady, unbothered rhythm of his breathing. He's enjoying this. Enjoying watching Alex unravel.
Alex, on the other hand, is pure tension—a storm about to break. His fists are clenched, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his jaw set so tight it could snap.
And me?
I can't breathe.
Michael's voice is calm, but laced with amusement. "Looks like you've made your choice, sweetheart."
My pulse hammers. My mouth is dry. I haven't made any choice.
But Alex doesn't see it that way.
He takes a step forward, his eyes locked onto mine. "Say it, Emma."
I swallow hard. "Say what?"
"Say you don't love me."
The air leaves my lungs.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
