Chapter 9. Talk at Home

The moment she mentioned Poppy, Clint’s eyes flickered. The anger on his face vanished almost instantly, replaced by that cold, unreadable mask Serena knew far too well.

He turned away from her and strode back to his desk, sitting down with deliberate calm. Casually, he picked up a document and began flipping through it. On the surface, he looked focused—like a man buried in work.

But Serena knew better.

That paper wasn’t work. It was a shield.

After a few beats of silence, she narrowed her eyes. “I asked for the divorce papers,” she reminded him coolly. “Did you hear me?”

Without even glancing up, he muttered, “There’s nothing here except business documents. I’m busy. We’ll talk at home.”

Talk at home.

Again.

That place he insisted on calling home hadn’t felt like one in a long time. Every time she pictured it, the same image rose uninvited—Poppy, naked in Clint’s bed. Her bed. The thought made her stomach churn.

This wasn’t about love