Two weeks had passed, and Emma felt like she was losing her mind.
Every day she took care of little Sophie — playing dolls, making snacks, reading bedtime stories. The little girl was sweet and full of energy, and Emma genuinely liked her. But it was the nights that were killing her.
Alexander came home late almost every evening. He’d walk through the door in his tailored shirts, tie loosened, looking tired but still so damn handsome it hurt. He always thanked her politely, asked about Sophie, then disappeared into his office or his bedroom. But his eyes… his eyes told a different story.
They lingered.
On her legs when she wore shorts. On the curve of her ass when she bent over to pick up toys. On her breasts when her tank tops clung to her after a long day. He never said anything inap
