"Why are you spying on my wife?" Blaze's voice cut through the air like a blade—low, frigid, and sharp enough to draw blood. Harriet jumped, nearly dropping the tray of chocolate muffins that trembled in her unsteady hands.
"Mr. Anderson..." Her voice cracked, weak and exposed—like someone caught red-handed in a crime they didn't have the strength to deny. "...You frightened me
Blaze took a slow, ominous step forward. "That wasn't an answer." His eyes darkened, sharp as storm clouds ready to break.
"Why are you spying on my wife? Or did your lunatic of a husband send you to finish what he couldn't?"
"What?! No!" Harriet gasped, her eyes flaring in horror. She clutched the tray tighter. "Desmond and I... we haven't spoken since I confronted him. I don't know what he's doing now—and I honestly don't care."
Blaze cocked his head, feigning sympathy with venom behind his smile. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
