Arielle sat at the long dining table, the ticking of the antique clock filling the silence between her and Kairo. Dinner had been set by the staff—grilled fish, sautéed greens, a neat stack of rice—but neither of them had touched much of it. She pushed food around her plate, pretending to have an appetite.
Across from her, Kairo ate with calm precision. His fork and knife moved with mechanical ease, each bite measured. His eyes didn’t lift often, but when they did, they landed on her just a second too long. Enough to make her stomach tighten.
It had been two days since she almost slipped in his study. Two days of watching herself too carefully, too afraid to make the smallest mistake again. Yet the problem was Kairo himself—he never said a word about what he’d seen, never questioned her,
