The silence stretched between them. Heavy. Dangerous.
Damian stood by his desk, those gold-amber eyes fixed on Selene with an intensity that made her skin burn. He was waiting for an answer. Waiting to see if she'd dig herself deeper into the lie or try to escape.
Selene's mind raced. She'd contradicted her cover story. Said she knew people from House Eltharion when her fabricated background claimed she was from the north, from House Greythorne.
He'd caught the inconsistency. She could see it in his eyes. The way he was looking at her now—not like a servant who'd made a mistake, but like a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Before Selene could figure out how to respond, Damian moved to the chairs near the fireplace. Gestured to one of them.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request. It was a command.
Selene's legs shook as she crossed the room. Every instinct screamed at her to run. To get out of this room before she said something that would get her killed.
