The breakfast place is the kind of silent that only absurd amounts of money can buy.
Of course Moon Arden booked the entire cafe.
The usual morning chatter, the clink of china, the buzz of conversation—all gone, erased by his whim. We are alone in a sea of empty, white-clothed tables.
I slump in my chair, a storm cloud of anger and frustration. Moon sits across from me, the picture of relaxed arrogance—arms crossed, leaning back, his gaze a physical weight on my skin.
He hasn't looked away since the elevator. Since this morning.
I turn my head, pretending to admire the serene, silent snowfall beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
But I feel it.
His stare. It's a laser pointed at the side of my face, waiting, burning.
I can't stand it. I glance back, meeting his eyes with an angry, exasperated sigh before looking away again.
He sees me.
I am the only thing that exists in his world right now, and he seems to revel in it.
A smirk touches his lips.
