Charlton saw the softness in Serena's eyes—a look not meant for him, but for the man standing across the room.
It burned. It burned hotter than the whiskey he had downed earlier, hotter than the humiliation of his father's fall. She was standing in his arms, yet her heart was kneeling at Geoffrey's feet.
"So that's how it is," Charlton whispered, his voice dropping to a lethal chill. "You truly are a creature of convenience, aren't you, Serena? You cling to whoever offers the warmest shelter."
Serena stiffened, her eyes snapping back to his. "Charlton, that's not..."
"Don't," he cut her off, his grip on her waist tightening just enough to be a warning, not enough to cause a scene. "Don't insult my intelligence. You didn't beg him because you didn't have to. He took you back. He shielded you. And now, you look at him as if he is the savior and I am the villain."
