Levi stared at the newspaper spread open on his mahogany desk, his knuckles white where they pressed against the edges of the page. The headlines screamed in bold, cruel letters:
"LOVE TRIANGLE OR LOVE SQUARE? LYSE STIRS UP STORM WITH EX, HUSBAND, AND BILLIONAIRE""BRANDON THROWS PUNCHES FOR HIS PRINCESS — LYSE PULLED FROM PAPARAZZI FRENZY"
The images were worse than the words.
There, right on the front page, was a picture of Brandon with his arms protectively around Lyse. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear—but she was pressed against him, her body curled into his like it belonged there. Another shot showed Brandon mid-fight, a fist colliding with a paparazzo's jaw, his expression murderous.
Levi's stomach turned.
His heart, however, lurched.
It should have been him.
