The sharp knock on Lydia's door jolts me from my thoughts, my heart leaping into my throat. For a moment, I think it might be Alex—coming back to apologize, to explain, to fight for us. But when Lydia swings the door open, it's not Alex.
It's Michael.
"What are you doing here?" Lydia asks, her tone sharp, her arms crossed defensively.
Michael steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his usual smirk firmly in place. "Relax, Lydia. I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to help Emma."
I scoff from my spot on the couch, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. "You? Help? Forgive me if I don't leap to trust you right now."
Michael's smirk softens, and for a moment, something like guilt flickers in his eyes. "I get it, Emma. You think I'm the villain in this game. And maybe I have been. But believe me when I say this: if you're in trouble, so am I. Victoria doesn't care who she burns to the ground."
