Trevor’s stare cut through the café like glass, slicing straight into me. He didn’t move at first, just stood there with that self-righteous posture that used to make me think he was a man of principle.
Now I know better. That posture wasn’t about principles but control. I'm damn sure he didn’t have any at this point.
Henry shifted in his seat. I could feel the tension rolling off him, sharp and silent, like a storm gathering just offshore. He didn’t break eye contact with Trevor, didn’t flinch. That, more than anything, made Trevor walk toward us.
Every step echoed in my chest. He stopped at our table, his gaze flicking between us, then dropping to the open file of divorce papers on the table.
“So this is how low you’ll go,” Trevor said, his voice calm, but his jaw tight. “Running to your old flame like a wounded little girl. Pathetic move, Erin.”
My cheeks burned. Anger, shame, fury—it all tangled together. But before I could respond, Henry leaned back in his chair, utterly composed.
“Careful,” Henry said evenly, his voice carrying that lawyer’s precision. “You’re on dangerous ground speaking to her like that. Especially in public.”
Trevor’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t look at Henry again. His eyes locked on me instead.
“Did you come running to him the second you walked out? Is that how little I meant to you?” he hissed, low enough that only we could hear.
The words stung, but I held his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself. You lost me long before tonight.”
For a moment, his mask slipped. Hurt flashed across his face, raw and unguarded. But then it twisted into something darker, uglier.
“You think he cares about you?” Trevor sneered, jabbing a finger at Henry. “He’s using you, Erin. He always did. You were just too blind to see it.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed, but I reached across the table first, resting my hand over Henry’s. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t even entirely intentional. But the second I did it, Trevor’s eyes flared with something primal.
Possessiveness.
It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
Henry didn’t move his hand away. He let it rest beneath mine, steady, warm, a silent show of solidarity that said more than words ever could.
“Leave, Trevor,” I whispered. My voice was low but edged with steel I hadn’t heard from myself in years. “Go back to your mistress. Or better yet, crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of when you decided I wasn’t enough.”
The vein in his temple pulsed. He leaned closer, his voice razor-thin. “You’re going to regret this, Erin. Both of you.”
“I’ll see you in court,” I said coldly, eyes still locked on him. “Don’t think for a second you’re walking away clean, Mr. Larusso.”
He gave me a hard look. For a second, I thought he was going to rebut. Yet, he left, the door slamming shut behind him.
