I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from my brow. Mila stood frozen, eyes widening at the red stain on white cloth. Perhaps she hadn't expected her tantrum to draw blood.
Not that it mattered anymore.
Ryan seized the moment. He grabbed her hand, his face twisting into practiced martyrdom.
"Mila, please, don't fight because of me." His voice dripped with fake guilt. "If my presence is causing problems between you and your husband, maybe I should just resign."
"No!" She gripped his hand tighter. "I'm sorry, David. It's all my fault. Don't blame—"
"Shut your mouth."
The command tore from my throat, low and dangerous. I glared at Ryan. His voice was nails on a chalkboard.
"You have no intention of leaving," I said coldly. "Stop the performance."
Ryan shrank back, playing victim perfectly. Mila immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him like precious treasure.
"Ryan isn't the one in the wrong! Why should he apologize?" She turned her glare on me. "David, apologize to him. Now."
Her voice carried the imperious tone of an heiress used to getting her way. She'd forgotten who held the real power here.