Rich Love
There was something so raw in his voice, like he hated himself more than anyone else possibly could.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. And that’s on me.”
Before I could respond, we heard a sharp voice cut through the night.
“Jay.”
We both turned.
His father.
I felt my stomach twist into knots, a fresh wave of dread crashing into me.
Mr. Johnson strode toward us, tailored suit flawless, expression unreadable. His gaze fixed on me with the sharpness of a scalpel.
“I just got off the phone with Emma,” he said. Looking straight at me, furious, “She informed me that the bracelet you were caught with wasn’t just any bracelet. It belonged to my wife.”
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