The car ride back from the gala was tense. Neither of them said a word.
Rhea kept her eyes on the city lights flickering past the tinted window, arms crossed, shoulders stiff. Her gown shimmered under the low interior light, the deep red silk pooling around her like spilled wine. Damian sat beside her, jaw tight, his hand clenched into a fist on his thigh.
When they reached his penthouse, she made a move to exit the car first, but he caught her wrist. Just a light touch. Barely there. Still, it felt like a flame.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice low, rough from restraint.
"Not tonight," she said. "I played my part. We're done."
But he didn’t let go. Not until she looked at him.
His eyes were darker than usual, like the storm had finally caught up with him.
Inside, silence stret
