Angela's breath hitched, but she didn't back down. "You don't own me, Tyler. And you don't own him."
Tyler's hand lashed out, gripping her throat in one swift motion. Angela gasped, her fingers clawing at his wrist, but he didn't flinch. "I own everything," he hissed, his face twisted with fury.
"And if you forget that again, I'll make sure you regret it." He shoved her backward, hard enough that she stumbled, nearly losing her balance.
The heavy oak door creaked open, and Angela stepped inside first, her posture rigid, her chin lifted in defiance—but I saw it immediately. The faint, angry red imprint of Tyler's fingers wrapped around her throat, a brutal brand marking her skin.
My jaw tightened as I watched her, the sight sending a jolt of something raw and primal through me. Rage? Possessiveness? Or just the cold realization that this woman, for all her power, was still a pawn in someone else's game?
