The restaurant seemed to shrink, the air growing thick and suffocating as Rhys continued to stare at me across the room. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think—his gaze held me captive, a prey frozen before its predator.
A movement beside him caught my attention. Julian Mercer stood there, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the scene. Of course, it had to be Julian. The realization hit me like a slap—this wasn't a coincidence.
"Elara, are you okay? You're pale," Ethan whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
His touch broke the spell. I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to look away from Rhys. "I'm fine," I lied, my voice barely audible.
Ethan frowned, clearly not believing me. He shifted closer, his hand moving to smooth a strand of hair that had fallen across my face. The gesture was brotherly, comforting—but I felt Rhys's rage spike like a physical force across the room.
