The city blurred by in streaks of amber and gold through the car window, but inside the cabin, the silence was so tight it pulsed.
Serena sat beside Christopher, her gloved hands folded neatly on her lap. Her reflection trembled faintly against the dark glass. She had learned by now that silence could be safer than words—but tonight, it didn't feel like safety at all. It felt like waiting for something to break.
Christopher hadn't spoken since they'd left the ball. He had helped her into the car, his touch too controlled, too gentle to be mistaken for kindness. His jaw was locked, his profile carved by the passing lights.
When she finally dared to speak, her voice was small."Are we not going home?"
He didn't look at her. "You are," he said, and then after a pause that stretched too long: "When I tell you to."
The words lodged somewhere deep inside her chest. She drew a slow, careful breath."What have I done to anger you?"
