The door slammed shut behind us.
That's when I felt it, beneath the still water of his perfectly controlled face, there was something boiling. He didn't yell. Didn't pace. He just stood there, blocking out the rest of the world like he was the goddamn building.
His eyes locked on mine.
"Why weren't you picking up your calls?"
My mouth dried. "My phone… it was on silent. I was watching a movie."
I couldn't even say it properly. It came out too fast, too fake.
His gaze narrowed, like he was cutting through every inch of that lie with surgical precision. I bristled immediately.
"If you don't believe me, that's your problem," I snapped. "I'm too tired for this."
But then, he blinked, and something softened.
He stepped closer. Not fast. Just enough to shift the air around me.
"I was worried about you," he said, voice low, softer now. "I kept calling."
I stared at his collar. At the slow rise and fall of his chest. Anything but his eyes.
