“What are you doing, Darius?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “Stop pretending like this is normal. Don’t do things out of character and act like you give a damn. Just tell me what you want.”
His eyes darkened, and I heard the low growl in his throat—a warning. Once, that growl would’ve made me shrink, would’ve made me bite my tongue. But not anymore.
The tension between us was palpable. Darius leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and calculating, as if this situation was beneath him. We were locked in a silent, hostile standoff, my frustration simmering beneath the surface. His expression was unreadable, and the longer the silence stretched, the harder it became to suppress my rising anger.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice as icy as his gaze. "It’s just food, Lyanna. What are you fussing about?"
I clenched my fists, glaring at him. "I wonder why," I shot back, sarcasm dripping from my words.
He clicked his tongue in irritation, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "I have a business trip coming up," he said, dismissively. "I don’t have time to humor your antics. If you want to starve, then so be it."