Riley's POV
The car moved quietly through the city, soft lights washing across the tinted windows in brief golden strips. I sat beside Michael in the backseat, the leather smooth beneath my palm as I kept my gaze outside. The chauffeur said nothing, the faint partition hum separating us from the front.
Neither of us spoke at first.
Michael’s hand rested lightly on the seat between us, his other elbow leaning against the window. His suit jacket had been loosened, top button undone, posture more relaxed than earlier, but his face stayed unreadable.
“You held your own back there,” he said finally, his voice low.
I didn’t turn to look at him. “You might’ve warned me it was a social battlefield.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth twitch, just barely.
Silence settled for a moment
