“This is my house too,” he said.
“No,” Carissa replied. “It’s the house you live in because I bought it.”
His face darkened.
Nikki laughed softly, but there was tension in it. Even she knew property records were less emotional than whatever story she had been telling herself about destiny.
“Get out,” Carissa said.
Nikki set the glass down. “You don’t get to talk to me like some random woman.”
Carissa held her gaze. “Random women generally have more dignity.”
Damen stood then, moving half a step in front of Nikki like a man protecting the person he wanted from the one who had funded him.
“Don’t do this.”
Carissa’s voice sharpened. “How long?”
Neither answered.
She looked at Nikki. “How long?”
Nikki stared back with her chin high, the tears absent this time, stripped away because maybe she was too tired or maybe she had finally decided that shame was harder than cruelty.
“Since spring,” Nikki said.
Damen snapped, “Nikki—”
She turned on him. “What? She already knows.”
Carissa felt something inside her go completely still.
Since spring.
It was November.
Seven months.