~Alistair's POV~
"Just now?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. "You got back just now, and you've already showered?"
I froze, my brow furrowing. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," Alex said, his voice thick with the whiskey and a sudden, sharp edge of venom, "that you were out for hours with a man I don't know. You didn't care that I was here losing my mind. And the moment you walk back into this house, the very first thing you do is shower, like you needed to rinse him off your skin?"
He let out a jagged, ugly laugh, staggering slightly as he stood up. The glass in his hand tilted precariously, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. "Was he that good, Alistair? Did he make you forget everything we had so quickly that you had to come home and scrub the evidence away?"
The air in my lungs turned to ice. I stared at him, a sharp, blinding fury surging through me, not fear, not hurt, just anger so cold it felt almost calm.
