Two days.
That was how long Theron had been at it.
Two straight days of comments tossed like pebbles, light, teasing, but irritating in that precise way that made ignoring them feel like a conscious effort rather than a reflex. Theron never pushed too hard. He never raised his voice. He simply leaned against doorframes or sat on the corner of Darien's desk, brows lifted, tone casual.
"So," he'd say, as if discussing the weather, "heard Amara's been spending time with another man."
Darien hadn't looked up.
"I'm just afraid if you don't make a move," Theron added mildly, tapping the desk once, "you'll regret it."
Regret.
Darien scoffed at it.
