I tried to focus on the sound of pages instead of the sound of his breathing.
The books lay open before me on the polished table, their white pages catching the last strands of evening light filtering through the window. My fingers trembled slightly as I flipped through them, searching for a place to start, though the words blurred in front of me. Every small movement felt amplified in the quiet, the slide of my chair, the rustle of paper, even the faint hitch in my breath.
Damian hadn’t said anything since he told me to begin.
He sat across the room, his chair turned just enough that I could see him from the corner of my eye, one arm resting on the edge of the table, the other draped casually over the armrest. But there was nothing casual about the way his eyes followed me. His gaze w
