The ride home is suffocating.
Damian and I sit in the back of the sleek company car, the city lights passing in streaks of silver and gold across the windows. The gala noise still rings faintly in my ears, but everything inside the car is quiet. Too quiet. He sits rigid on the opposite side of the seat, shoulders tense, jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him for several long minutes. My heart still pounds from the confrontation. From the way he defended me. From the way he looked at me afterward, like my words had pierced something inside him he did not want anyone to touch.
The silence stretches until it feels unbearable.
I finally break it. “You cannot speak to me like that. You cannot treat me like something you own.”
His head tilts slig
