Cecilia
A strong arm shot out, catching Amara mid-fall before she could land across Sebastian's lap.
“Amara.”
His voice was low, sharp as broken glass.
“I know you're not drunk. Drop the act.”
The air in the car shifted—tightened.
Amara blinked once, then slowly straightened. Her eyes were clear.
She looked at him, not with shame, but with something softer. Wounded. Calculated.
“Does it really have to be this way?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I should be asking you that,” he said, his tone glacial. “Sit properly. Or get out.”
The temperature in the car seemed to drop several degrees.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Even the driver had turned to stone, hands clenched on the wheel, eyes fixed forward in a desperate attempt to di
