Laughter, Peace… and the Echo of Danger
Most of the women didn't question him. They just nodded—taking his easy answer at face value.
Except one.
Aria tilted her head, just a little. Her violet eyes narrowed, not harsh, but sharp with curiosity. That kind of curiosity that came from knowing a man too well to miss the tremble behind the calm. Her voice stayed soft—warm, even—but there was something in it. Something that knew more than it asked.
"Darling," she said, smooth as ever, "by the way... why did Ronan ask to speak with you alone, hmm?"
She wasn't accusing him. Not even close. It wasn't suspicion in her voice—just that quiet edge only a woman who's studied every breath her man takes could wield. She wasn't demanding answers. She was watching.
Waiting.
And he flinched.
Not much. Just a tiny slip in the mask. But enough.
The smile faltered. Just for a second. But Aria saw it.
Cynthia's calm gaze shifted—barely, but it did.
