"Mr. Lynch." Mina greeted Tyrone politely.
"What happened to your hand?" someone asked, curiosity in their voice.
Mina smiled graciously at the group, her manners impeccable. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little run-in with an ill-mannered girl. Nothing serious."
By now, Mina and Vincent were both standing in front of Tyrone, neither of them recognizing Alicia.
They probably assumed she was still at the police station.
"What did your brother do that was so vile a young girl would go after him like that?" Tyrone's tone was cool, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable.
It was a clear display of hostility.
Mina was taken aback, glancing at Tyrone in confusion.
She couldn't recall ever offending him.
Alicia froze as well, looking nervously at Tyrone before instinctively stepping behind him, as if seeking shelter.
She never expected Tyrone to stand up for her like this, especially in public.
"Mr. Lynch—" Vincent started, wanting to say something on Mina's behalf, but as his eyes landed on Alicia, the words caught in his throat.
His expression darkened visibly, but good breeding kept his anger in check.
Tonight, Alicia was nothing like the girl he'd known.
He'd been with her for four years—ever since she was a shy nineteen—and he'd always admitted to himself she was beautiful. But in all that time, he'd never once seen her truly make an effort with her appearance.
To Vincent, Alicia had always been natural, fresh-faced, dressed in simple white tees or plain sundresses, never a drop of perfume, always understated and clean.
It was why he'd been so satisfied with her as his lover, never growing tired or looking elsewhere all these years.
But now, the girl he'd kept quietly on the side for four years had suddenly slipped away, appearing dazzling and confident on someone else's arm. It infuriated him.
"Alicia?" Mina finally recognized her, staring in disbelief. "Weren't you… still at the police station?"
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