Julian and Anson stood face to face.
One was dressed in a black suit, like a ruthless king stepping out of a dark castle.
The other wore white, dazzling as a superstar under the spotlight.
Before either of them had spoken, from a single exchange of glances, Eleanor felt the air pressure around her drop so sharply that it was hard to breathe.
If she could, she would have pulled Anson away at once.
Nothing good could come of facing Julian.
But she could tell from Anson's expression that he didn't want to leave. And Julian seemed determined not to let them go until he'd asked everything he wanted to ask.
Julian's face was icy, his eyes sharp as knives.
He stared hard at Anson, his hostility obvious.
Anson answered with a smile, but his smile carried an unmistakable edge of its own.
