The Anchor's Confession

The confession hangs in the air, thick as the scent of Sofia still on him. Charlotte's breath catches, her small hands freezing in her lap. John-Paul doesn't move from his knees, but his eyes hold hers, raw and stripped bare. The world she knew—the clean protector, the dirty secret—shatters and reforms into something more terrible and intimate. Her jealousy curdles into a strange, hot possession.