Lyla
When I entered the house, I found Ramsey sitting on the couch, staring down at his hands as if he'd never seen them before. His shoulders were rigid with tension, and I could feel waves of conflicted emotion rolling off him through our mate bond—anger, protectiveness, and something that felt like self-loathing.
I paused at the door, my hand still on the handle, not knowing what to do or say or whether to step forward or give him space. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken accusations and the result of my poor choices.
The truth was, I had no excuse. The day Paul had first shown up at our door, both Ramsey and I had agreed that we wouldn't entertain him anymore. I'd had a choice when he offered me a ride from the market, and I'd made the wrong one. There was no justification for getting into that car with him, especially after Ramsey's warnings about Paul's behaviour.
