I crossed my arms, the corners of my mouth lifting in a dry smile. "No. I'm used to short hair now. It's more convenient."
His lips thinned and for a moment, the Cayden I remembered peeked through—someone unaccustomed to being contradicted. His tone turned curt. "Suit yourself."
Without another word, he walked past me and into the living room. His movements were confident, almost too casual, as if he had walked these halls a hundred times before. The way he glanced at the furniture and decor made it clear: this house wasn't just a gift for me.
"Why did you call me yesterday?" he asked, lowering himself onto the sofa with the ease of someone settling into familiar territory. He rested one arm on the backrest, his piercing gaze flicking to me briefly before focusing on the room around us.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him, the question hanging between us. Instead of answering, I countered, "When can I return to work?"
Cayden tilted his head, as if caught off guard by my directness. He seemed to think for a moment, but I knew better. Cayden was never indecisive. He had already made up his mind; this was all for show.