Silence stretches, infuriatingly heavy as he stares at me with narrowed eyes. The seconds tick by, each one thicker and more uncomfortable than the last.
I scoff and turn toward the stairs, ready to put as much distance as possible between us. “Great. So glad we’re on the same—“
“What happened to your lip?”
I freeze mid-step. A gasp crawls up my throat but I swallow it down, exhaling a stuttering breath.
His words are a far cry from gentle and concerned—they’re controlled and irritated.
I turn back slowly.
He hasn’t moved. His knuckles are still blanched against the edge of the countertop. His eyes slowly trace the line of my mouth before meeting my gaze again.
“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a small step back.
His gaze lingers on the small split in my skin. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he studies me. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?”
“No,” he agrees flatly. “You didn’t.”
My heart pounds wildly against my ribs when his eyes flick up to mine again, something dark and unreadable passing through them.
“How did it happen?” he asks.
I swallow. “I said it’s nothing.”
For a second, he looks like he might say something. Push further. Demand an explanation. Raise his voice.
Instead, his brow furrows and he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s reining himself in.
“Right,” he mutters.
The dismissal stings more than concern would’ve.
He straightens, pushing off the counter, creating even more space between us—and somehow, the room feels even smaller.
“My dad expects professionalism,” he adds coolly. “So keep your head down and be mindful around guests.”
The fog in my mind clears, replaced with a bitter rush of humiliation and regret.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
The words taste sour. I don’t look at him when I say them.
His mouth tightens and he nods once. “Good,” he says. “We’re clear.”
I turn away before the burn in my throat can rise any higher. My hand comes up instinctively to my mouth, fingers pressing into the cut, barely holding myself together.
Do not look back.
But I am a glutton for punishment and seemingly incapable of ignoring every flashing red light of warning.
At the bottom of the stairs, I glance over my shoulder to find him still there—watching me. His expression is hard and closed off, but there’s something unsettled beneath it.
He rolls his shoulders back once before turning away and slipping out the back door without another word.
CHAPTER FIVE
