Genevieve's eyebrows lifted, but she didn't speak. Just waited.
"I know how that sounds," Maya rushed on.
"You have no idea what I'm thinking right now," Genevieve said gently. "And none of it is judgment."
She pulled her legs up onto the couch, turned to face Maya completely. Not as a polite guest anymore.
But a woman who recognized the exact shape of a confession right before it hits the floor.
"Go on."
Maya took a breath. The moan that rolled through the wall this time was long, broken, Isabella's voice splintering on Peter's name like she was praying and cursing at the same time. Maya closed her eyes for half a second. When they opened again, the green in them had gone darker. Deeper.
