She turned at the sound of his entrance, her pale blue eyes flashing. Her designer heels clicked against the floor as she stalked toward him.
"Attia." Her voice was sharp, demanding. "We need to talk."
He did not slow his pace. Did not soften his expression. He walked past her into his office, leaving the door open behind him.
"Why are you here?" His voice was cold. Flat. The voice he used with enemies.
Monica followed him inside, her face flushing with anger.
"Why am I here? You break off our engagement—*our engagement*—through a phone call to my father? No explanation. No warning. And you ask why I am here?"
Attia turned to face her.
"The engagement was a formality," he said. "Nothing more. I made that clear from the beginning."
Monica's eyes widened. "A formality? We were going
