Lena's POV “What is what?” Xander’s brow furrowed, his tone defensive. His eyes flashed with impatience, but I didn’t care. My heart pounded in my chest, anger and disbelief warring with the remnants of hope I had been clinging to. “Take off your shirt, Alexander,” I said, my voice tight and trembling, though I tried to keep it steady. He looked at me as if I’d asked him to fly. “Why?” he asked, his tone a mix of confusion and annoyance, as though my demand were absurd. “Take it off, or do you want to sleep with it on?” I snapped, frustration bubbling over. His eyes narrowed, but he slowly, deliberately peeled the shirt from his shoulders. I snatched it from him and held it up, pointing to the unmistakable lipstick stain across the collar. “Are you deliberately doing this?” I asked, my voice shaking, tears threatening to spill. Every sign was there—the scent of perfume clinging to him, the hesitation in his touch, the strange tension that had been building for months. All of it,
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