Page 59 of Beautiful Lies

My stomach bottoms out, and I can’t breathe.

My gaze snaps to him, lips parting, but no words come out.

“I’m sorry, what?” Chad’s jaw tightens, the color rising back to his face.

“You heard me.” Knox’s voice drops, dangerously calm. “Exes have a habit of lingering where they’re not wanted. Smart ones know when to stay buried.”

“But—”

“No.” Knox lifts a hand, silencing him. “We’re done here. Clearly, she did better than you. So, whatever this was, it’s over.” His tone is polite, but the warning underneath could strip paint.“I’d hate for this reunion to run any longer than it already has. And no, there’s nothing for Isla to think about, so do yourself a favor and leave her alone.”

“Knox,” I breathe, my voice barely there.

He turns to me, his expression unreadable. “We’re leaving now, love.”

He extends his hand toward me, palm up. The gesture shouldn’t make my pulse stumble, but it does. It’s not a request. It’s a command.

For a second, I just stare at his hand, torn between fury and a spark I wish I didn’t feel.

Every eye in the restaurant feels trained on us. My pride screams at me to ignore him, but I take his hand anyway.

His fingers close around mine, steady and sure. The heat of his skin sears against my palm.

God, I should pull away. But I don’t.

Knox doesn’t look at me, doesn’t need to. His grip says everything—you’remine, and don’t forget it.

And now he’s acting like I’m his prize to claim.

Chad’s still standing there, frozen, his face pale and tight.

Knox doesn’t give him another glance. He just turns, leading me toward the door with that same cool, infuriating confidence.

I follow, anger burning through the mortification twisting in my chest.

Damn him. Knox just seriously humiliated Chad. And I couldn’t be more embarrassed.

The man’s impossible. Arrogant. Completely out of line.

And yet, beneath the heat and the shame, a treacherous part of me can’t help it—I’m impressed and annoyingly grateful. No one has ever defended me the way Knox just did. I may even go as far as admitting I’m awestruck.

But not enough to tame the rage roiling within me.

Chapter Thirteen

Knox

Rain drumsagainst the roof of the Bentley in a relentless rhythm, soft at first, then heavier. Each drop becomes a quiet percussion that competes with the silence Isla has wrapped around herself.

Don sits stiffly behind the wheel, eyes on the road, pretending he can’t feel the tension from us bleeding through the back seat. He’s smart enough not to look in the mirror. And he would never ask questions. Not even to ask if we’re okay.

Even the blind would see we’re far from okay.

I’m pissed as fuck, and beside me, Isla is staring out the window, her reflection ghosting against the glass with the watercolor of city lights and shadows. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles pale. She hasn’t said a word since we left the restaurant.

Fine. I prefer silence when I’m this close to losing my shit.

Anger burns slowly beneath my ribs. Though, I’m not sure what has enraged me most: