Carter leaned back in his chair, his expression defiant. “Of course, Henry, it’s just casual talk. Don’t read too much into it.”
But his tone betrayed his intentions—he wanted me to doubt her. Scarlett, clearly rattled, quickly tugged on my arm, her voice trembling slightly. “Let’s go home, Henry.”
I nodded, rising to my feet. The air between us felt heavy with unspoken truths as we left the restaurant together.
As we left the restaurant, I caught Carter' gaze lingering on me—a deliberate provocation, a silent dare. The drive home was tense, the car thick with unspoken words.
Scarlett tried to break the silence, her voice overly cheerful as she talked about mundane things. But I didn’t respond, keeping my eyes on the road, my grip on the steering wheel tight.
Later that night, as we lay in bed, Scarlett curled up against me, her slender arms draped across my back.
It was then I spoke, my voice soft yet cutting. “Scarlett, why do you smell like someone else? A scent I’ve noticed before... but not on you.”