Ana's POV
The living room fell silent, tension thick enough to cut. I kept stuffing clothes into my suitcase, trying to ignore the weight of Morris's stare. When I finally looked up, he was smoothing out a piece of drawing paper on the coffee table.
That cold edge I'd grown used to seeing in his eyes had completely disappeared. Now when he looked at me, something softer flickered there—something that made my chest tighten.
He cocked an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Giving up already? That doesn't sound like you." He nodded toward the paper. "Why don't you try?"
Morris positioned himself in the center of the room, the harsh overhead lighting carving sharp shadows across his angular features. The sight of him standing there, all controlled power and quiet confidence, sent an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.
I stared up at him, emotions I couldn't untangle churning inside me. Was he actually trying to encourage me?
