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“You have those things with my sister now.”

I felt as if I was a damn broken record, reminding him of his infidelity over and over. He dropped to his knees so suddenly I stepped back. Garrett Cain, who’d never knelt for anything in his life, was on my house floor with tears streaming down his face.

“Please. I’m begging you. My mother won’t take my calls. The partners are discussing my future at the firm. Everything I’ve worked for is disappearing.”

“Good.”

It did feel great to hear that, I wasn’t going to lie.

“How can you be so cold? I made one mistake…”

“Don’t minimize this.”

“Sophie means nothing to me!”

For fuck’s sake. “Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Sam, please.” He grabbed my arm, fingers wrapping around my wrist with possession. Not violent, just holding. Claiming. The same way he’d held me at a thousand parties, marking territory without leaving marks. “We can work through this. Couples therapy. Whatever you want. We’ll move away from Charlotte, start fresh…”

“I already started fresh. Without you.”

His grip tightened. Still not painful, but firmer. More desperate. “You’re my wife. You don’t get to just walk away.”

“Well. Watch me.”

“No.” The tears were gone now, replaced by cold fury. “You destroyed everything with that recording. The least you can do is try to fix it. You vindictive little shit…”

The door exploded open behind us. I’d forgotten I hadn’t locked it after letting Garrett in. Stupid. But then Tyson filled the doorframe and stupid became the least of my concerns.

He didn’t yell or posture. Just stood there in work boots and flannel, sawdust in his hair, taking in the scene with those green eyes that had gone absolutely flat.

“Let. Go. Of her arm.”

Five words. Quiet. Certain. The kind of tone that didn’t need volume because it carried its own weight.

Garrett’s grip loosened but didn’t release. “This is a private conversation. We’re married. I can…”

Tyson moved faster than someone his size should be able to. One second he was in the doorway, the next he had Garrett’s wrist in his hand, applying pressure that made my ex yelp.

“She’s not your anything. You screwed everything with her. Pay the fucking consequences.”

“You don’t understand…”

“I understand enough.” More pressure. Garrett went white. “Let. Her. Go.”

The release was instant. Garrett cradled his wrist to his chest, staring up at Tyson with the shock of someone who’d never been physically outmatched before.

The contrast between them was almost comical. Garrett in his wrinkled Oxford and khakis, disheveled and desperate. Tyson in work clothes and steel-toed boots, steady as granite. One man falling apart, the other absolutely immovable.

“She wants the divorce,” Tyson said. “Leave her the fuck alone, or we’ll have an issue here.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes. Fucking sure I am. You come near her again, we’ll have problems.”

Garrett looked between us, and I watched understanding dawn on his face. “So I was right. You are fucking him. That’s what this is about. You’re already spreading your legs for some construction worker…”

Tyson moved again, suddenly very, very present in Garrett’s space. “Finish that sentence. Please. I beg you. Disrespect her in front of me.”