Martin's voice sliced through the boutique like a blade dipped in ice.
"How dare you hit her."
Clara froze mid-stride, hand still half-raised, palm flushed crimson from the slap she'd just landed. The sharp sting on Fiona's cheek pulsed hot and angry.
Martin stepped fully into the boutique now, coat still damp from the mist outside, hair slightly tousled, gray eyes locked on Clara with a fury so cold it seemed to lower the temperature in the room. The sales associates shrank back against the racks. Customers stared, phones half-raised. The soft jazz overhead suddenly felt obscene.
Clara's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.She knew this man its like he owned this whole city .How does he know Fiona..??
"Martin" she started, voice high and cracking.
He didn't let her finish.
"Do you have any idea who you just touched?" His tone was quiet, lethal, every word measured like a verdict. "Do you know I can have your whole family imprisoned for what you've done?"
