Thomas's piercing eyes, a mixture of surprise and concern, locked onto hers the moment she stumbled. He reached out instinctively to steady her, his voice softer than she remembered. “Vivian?” he asked, his tone laced with an unfamiliar tenderness. “Are you okay?”
Her chest tightened, and her heart ached in response. His gentleness felt like a cruel joke, a mockery of the anguish that had been simmering inside her since Genevieve’s venomous laughter had echoed in her ears.
The weight of that betrayal pressed down on her, almost suffocating, and yet, here he was—Thomas, the unknowing pawn in Genevieve’s ruthless game—pretending to care.
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. Not here.
