It hit the floor with a sharp clang, splattering broth and bits of food across the tiles. His voice caught in his throat. "Why?"
"Because of that thing in the car that looked exactly like a condom wrapper?"
"I already explained that. It was from Adela's takeout. If you don't believe me, I'll call her right now and she can tell you herself."
He said it without flinching. Not a trace of guilt. If anything, there was irritation in his tone—annoyance that I was making something out of nothing.
When I said nothing, Derek picked up his phone, ready to dial.
The very next second, a ringtone sounded just outside the door.
Adela Matthews walked in carrying a bouquet of flowers and a gift bag.
"Mr. Shaw. Viola."
The moment she stepped inside, her eyebrows lifted in surprise at the mess on the floor.
"What happened here?"
"Mr. Shaw, are you hurt?"
Without missing a beat, she set everything down and moved to Derek's side, turning his hands over, scanning him for injuries.
The motion was smooth, practiced—intimate in a way that seemed almost unconscious.
I watched her hands on him, my gaze frozen over.
Derek shifted back half a step, a flicker of unease crossing his face. He pulled Adela forward by the arm.