Ivan stilled beside the doorway, his lips parting, his eyes darting between Ewan and me like he couldn't quite piece together how the man before him—this sharply dressed, snake of a father—knew his name.
My chest tightened.
I moved on instinct, stepping in front of him. My arm stretched slightly to the side, blocking Ivan from view, from reach, from him.
Ewan's smile didn't falter. If anything, it grew.
"Hmm," he hummed, eyes flicking over my shoulder. "You're shorter than I expected." He gave a low, almost condescending chuckle. "Frankly not the kind of taste I expected him to have."
"Don't," I snapped. "Don't talk to him. Don't even look at him."
He raised a hand in mock surrender. "Just curious. No need to get territorial, son."
I stepped closer, enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his expensive suit, the cologne he always wore like armor. The monster dressed as a man.
"How the fuck do you know his name?" I bit out, voice low enough to draw blood.
