Her fingers stiffened. She hesitated, then slowly pulled out her phone and opened her social media. Her expression shifted, over and over.
Moments later, in silence, she peeled off her clothes and unfastened the belly band around her waist.
“Since you’ve already seen the post,” she said flatly, “I won’t hide it anymore.”
“They’re my husband and children overseas. They’re my family.”
I stared at her in disbelief, searching her face for guilt, remorse, anything. But she looked calm. Unshaken. As if none of this was betrayal.
I straightened up, fury flaring in my chest. “Husband? Kids? Then what the hell am I?”
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she gently reached for my hand and clasped the watch around my wrist. Her tone was light as if she were talking about the weather.
“They’re my family over there. It has nothing to do with you. Evander Hale lives in Italy. He’s not coming here; it won’t affect your role at all.”
“He runs his trading company; you have your tech research and production; there’s no clash between you two.”