"You keep staring at my hand, Claire. Is there something interesting about it?"
Julian asked without taking his eyes off his plate. He cut the steak with precise movements, as if every slice required mathematical calculation. The atmosphere at the dining table felt incredibly thin, as if one wrong word could blow up the entire penthouse.
Claire jumped, nearly dropping her fork. She quickly shifted her gaze to her glass of water. "I was just looking at the scar on your knuckle. It wasn’t there this morning before you left."
Julian stopped cutting. He raised his right hand, examining the fresh, red scratch mark on his knuckle. "Oh, this. Just a small scrape when I was moving wooden crates at the logistics warehouse earlier. The wood was a bit rough."
Claire swallowed hard. She knew Julia
