The dining room had gone unnaturally quiet.
Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came with familiarity. This silence lingered—heavy, reflective, unsettled.
Ashcroft broke first.
“That’s… screwy,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His gaze stayed fixed on the table. “I mean—seriously. Is attending that concert really that important to her?”
The words hung there, careless and sharp.
Damien didn’t answer.
His jaw tightened instead, muscle locking as his hand clenched against his thigh. His posture remained composed, but inside, his thoughts spiraled—dark, unwanted, relentless.
Is she being petty?
Does she really want to see that guy?
How important is he to her?
Is she… hoping for something more with that so-called Jin?
The questions gnawed at him, each one worse than
