I was already moving.
But Lyra didn’t say a word. Didn’t cry. Didn’t cower. She just stood there, eyes burning, back straight, like she already knew I’d burn the whole world down for her.
“Just shut the f**k up, Camilla,” I snapped, stepping fully between them. My body now a wall, shielding Lyra from every ounce of Camilla’s bullshit. “Look at what you’re wearing. You want to talk about skirts and asses? You’re in this kitchen with your t**s hanging out, wearing shorts that could double as f*****g underwear, but you want to slut-shame her?”
Her eyes widened. She took a step back, shocked that I dared to speak to her like that. But I wasn’t finished. Not even close.
“I’m a grown-ass woman, Damon!” she yelled, her face flushed now with both rage and humiliation. “I can wear whatever the
