“I’m not interested in your apology. I’m interested in an answer.” The finely honed edge of my rage sliced through my cordial mask. The thought of him even breathing in Stella’s presence, much less fucking touching her, made acid burn in my blood. “Which. Hand?” Sweat stains bloomed on Frank’s shirt. “R-right.” “I see.” My smile returned. “Put the drink down.” He was holding it with his right hand. “I swear, I didn’t know! I—I arrived late and—” My eyes narrowed. After a beat of hesitation, he set the drink down with a tremble. I could’ve sworn I heard an actual whimper. My disdain deepened.
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