Alan
The heavy thud of the door echoed in the cabin, a sound more final than anything I've ever heard.
I stared at the spot where Cyril had stood, pale, vibrating with a lethal sort of silence, and looking at me with eyes that had turned into chips of ice.
I opened my mouth to shout her name again, to command her to stop, but the sound died in my throat.
I couldn't move. I was pinned to the spot, not by Miranda’s arms, but by the sheer, suffocating weight of my own negligence.
I looked down. My shirt was unbuttoned, the silk hanging open to reveal the chest Miranda had been exploring only moments before.
I looked like exactly what Cyril thought I was: a hypocrite, a philanderer, a man who preached discipline while indulging in the very chaos he claimed to despise.
I couldn't go a
