In Manhattan, Franklin had initially seen Drake as nothing more than background noise.
When he'd overheard the conversation between Cassie and Drake earlier, he hadn't considered the man a threat, not even remotely.
Cassie had dismissed him too easily, too cleanly. Her tone had been firm, detached, almost bored. To Franklin, that alone was enough proof that Drake didn't matter.
Or so he thought.
The moment Drake mentioned that night, something dark and volatile stirred awake inside Franklin. The calm, controlled composure he prided himself on shattered instantly.
The call with Cassie ended abruptly, not because he wanted it to, but because if he stayed on the line any longer, he might have said something he couldn't take back.
Instead, he dialed Drake.
And this time,
