Ryan’s jaw stopped ticking. That was the first sign he was about to do something terminally stupid.
For three agonizing seconds, the grand dining hall of the Thorne estate was a tomb. The only sound was the faint, pathetic *drip-drip* of condensation falling from a silver ice bucket onto the mahogany table.
Elena’s face crumbled. The golden, sun-kissed perfection melted into something hollow and terrified. She looked at Ryan, her chest heaving, her hands hovering defensively over her flat stomach. "She’s lying," Elena shrilled, the pitch of her voice cracking the heavy silence. "Ryan, she’s just jealous! She’s a bitter, corrupted—"
"Bring Dr. Aris," Jane said. Her voice was flat. She didn't yell. She didn't need to. She just adjusted the cuff of her silk blouse, smoothing a nonexistent
