The image of last night’s fight flashes in my mind—Alex and Tyson colliding like wrecking balls, turning my living room into a war zone. Bruised knuckles, shattered furniture, and enough testosterone to fuel an entire action movie.

Now they’re standing here again, tension thick enough to choke on.

“Please don’t destroy my office.”

Alex doesn’t take his eyes off Tyson. His voice is calm, but the threat beneath it is razor sharp. “Don’t worry, love. We won’t wreck the place.”

I have my doubts. The way his hands flex at his sides tells me he’s one wrong word away from doing exactly that.

Tyson turns his attention to me. “We still need to discuss the hotel.”

Alex steps in front of me, a human shield between me and Tyson. “Forget it. Magnolia won’t be working with you anymore.”

Tyson whirls around, pointing his finger at Alex. “Shut up. You don’t get a fucking say in our business arrangement.”

Alex steps out of the way. “It’s your business, babe. Handle it.”

I square my shoulders, lifting my chin. “I won’t be moving forward on the project with you. You’ve shown me who you are. I refuse to do business with someone I can’t trust.”

“You have to. We have a binding agreement. You’re obligated.”

I shake my head. “Actually, I’m not.”

I would say that he looks confused, but it’s hard to tell with his face looking like he zigged when he should’ve zagged. “We have a contract, and there’s a clause in that agreement––one you’ve violated.”

“That’s bullshit.”

I arch a brow, turning toward my desk. “You should’ve read the fine print.”

I pluck a folder from my drawer, flipping it open, my fingers gliding over the pages until I find the clause I’m looking for.

Clearing my throat, I read aloud. “The designer reserves the right to terminate this agreement should the client engage in conduct that is illegal, unethical, or otherwise detrimental to the designer’s professional reputation and/or personal values.”

I slam the contract on my desk in front of him. “You signed it. Now I’m exercising my legal right to end the agreement.”

His jaw tightens. “You think that’ll hold up?”

“I don’t think, Tyson. I know. You’re welcome to fight it, but you won’t win. I took special care to cover all my bases with you. My gut told me I couldn’t trust you and I was right.”

Alex chuckles, full of satisfaction. “Damn, McRae. You got outplayed by the fine print.”

The fight in his eyes fades, weakening, until there’s nothing left but quiet defeat. “All right then. I guess this is it.”

“It is. Goodbye, Tyson.”

Without another word, he turns and leaves. The second the door swings shut, I can breathe again. But before I can process what just happened⁠—