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“I—” I start to answer, but the kitchen door opens.

Scar comes in and quickly shuts the door, keeping Saint from following him and ignoring the dog’s whines. He leans against the door, his gaze flicking between Cade and me then his lips curve into a eerily brilliant smile.

“Now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see. Cade Quinn on his knees. Begging.”

Cade rises in one fluid motion, his body shifting instinctively to shield me. His arm braces against me, protective, every line of him taut.

Scar pushes off the door and strides toward the island, crouching as he yanks cupboards open.

“Pretend I’m not here, as usual.” His chuckle is low, dark—like he hasn’t just intruded on the most intimate moment of our lives. He crouches to rummage through the lower cupboards. “I’m only looking for a collar and leash. And some fucking grubs. Saint’s going absolutely mental this morning.”

Despite Scar being on the other side of the island, Cade keeps herding me toward the wall, his presence like a barrier between us. He’s shielding me, his movements deliberate.

“Cade?” I press my palm against his back, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles and the electric energy thrumming through him.

“Stay behind me,” he orders in a harsh whisper.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, craning my neck, desperate to see around his broad shoulders.Why is he protecting me? From what?

Scar slams the last cupboard shut, rising slowly with a dog collar dangling from his hand. His gaze flicks between Cade’s stance and my position behind him—the way Cade shields me like I’m something fragile.

Something shatters in Scar’s expression.

It’s not rage or hatred—it’s something rawer. Naked hurt burns in his eyes, so stark it makes my chest ache.

“Really?” His voice cracks. “Is that what you think of me?”

A tremor runs through Cade, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t lower his guard.

Scar takes a few unhurried steps toward the pantry, then stops. His shoulders sag on an exhale. “You know,” he says without turning, “I’m not sure which hurts more. That you couldn’t let yourself love me back or that you think I’d hurt the woman you claim to love.”

Scar is in love with Cade.

And suddenly, it all makes sense. Cade is really the center of Scar’s world world.

Though I shouldn’t be surprised—Cade has that effect on people. But this man already wears Cade’s face, his name, his life . . . and it still wasn’t enough.

Broken and devastated wouldn’t even begin to describe what Scar must be feeling now.

Some instinct makes me want to reach for Scar and comfort this broken thing, but Cade’s grip tightens on my hip—as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Scar shakes his head as if clearing emotion. “You must think I’m a monster, Pretty.”

“Derek, come on,” Cade begins, his voice soft, like he’s talking down a spooked horse.

Scar goes still. “It’s Cade.” A sound escapes him—raw, wounded, almost like a sob as he disappears into the pantry.

Mystomach churns. “Cade,” I whisper, needing to know. “Were you and Scar . . . ever a thing? I mean . . . without the women you shared?”

Cade turns to me, and the look in his eyes steals my breath—guilt tangled with regret.

“Jesus! You and him?”

“No,” Cade cuts in. “Never.”

“But he obviously loves you.”

“Don’t use that word. Please.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not love. It’s something else. Something twisted I was too fucking blind to see.”