His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might actually grab my arm. Instead, he turned sharply and walked away, leaving me alone in the echoing hall.
His footsteps faded, the oppressive silence returned. I stood there, torn between unease and determination. What was Nathaniel hiding?
Dinner that evening was a tense affair. Nathaniel’s icy politeness grated on my nerves, his every glance a reminder of his earlier warning.
"You’ve barely touched your food," he observed, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
I speared a piece of steak with unnecessary force, meeting his gaze. "I’m not hungry. The atmosphere here is… unappetizing."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he said nothing.
"This war between our families," I began, breaking the silence. "What do you really want out of it, Nathaniel?"
He set down his glass with deliberate slowness, leaning back in his chair. "And what makes you think I’ll give you an honest answer, Tiffany?"
My chest tightened with frustration. Every word with him was a chess move, every look a feint.
"Maybe I’m tired of the games," I said.
His laugh was low and humorless. "Games? This isn’t a game, Tiffany. It’s survival."