Logan's POV
I watch the video still playing on Rowan's phone with a mouthful of oxygen trapped in my lungs. I think I've forgotten how to breathe.
Nathaniel leans back in his chair, that smug, relaxed posture that screams that he's so sure of himself. The words hang casually in the air:
"You could say we're well acquainted."
No.
No, he wouldn't dare. He wouldn't drag that into the open. What would be the point? It'd just put a spotlight on the both of us and feed into more rumours until they turned feral. It would be petty and unnecessarily cruel and, although I know Nathaniel Aldridge can be unnecessarily cruel, he's not petty like that. He's worse. Calculated. Always three moves ahead.
The interviewer tilts their head, eyebrows climbing. "What do you mean by that?"
I tighten my grip on Oliver, like I can keep the world steady if I just hold him close enough. My pulse is in my throat.
