Amaris POV
Dinner crawled by, thick with awkward tension. I played my part like a pro the uncomfortable one while Theron perfected the art of silent torment. I tried to keep my eyes on my plate, pushing ravioli around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. But his burning stare clung to me like a second skin. I abandoned my food halfway through, switching to wine instead. Maybe this was his newest form of punishment, and if it was, I had to admit he’d outdone himself. Bravo, Theron.
The car ride back to the penthouse was no better. We exchanged a few words bland, surface-level exchanges that meant nothing. Just like at dinner, the tension between us said more than any syllable spoken aloud.
By the time we stepped into the elevator, the pressure between us was unbearable.
