For a fleeting moment, it was as though Ethan had been struck by an invisible blow; the weight of her words landed squarely in his chest, leaving him momentarily frozen. His eyes locked on hers—wide, unmoving, and painfully silent—before he forced himself to blink, drawing in a breath that steadied the storm behind his gaze. With a subtle shift, his expression smoothed back into something deceptively neutral, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
"Well," he said at last, his voice as cold and clipped as glass snapping under pressure, "it seems it's not just one."
The driver, sensing the sharpness in Ethan's tone, hesitated before attempting to speak.
"Sir—" he began, but the low creak of the car door interrupted him, drawing every pair of eyes toward the sudden intrusion.
Standing there, framed by the muted sunlight spilling in from outside, was Rebecca. A knowing smile played at her lips as she tilted her head ever so slightly.
