The silence that followed Eloise's last word was not silence at all. It was a tangible pressure—thick, suffocating, and electric—coiling through the vast dining room like the air before a devastating storm.
Luciano's expression didn't change a muscle, maintaining that dangerous mask of aristocratic control, but something lethal flickered deep behind that glacier of icy blue-gray. Eloise wasn't sure whether it was pure, unadulterated anger… or something colder, more focused, like a hunter sighting the bullseye.
Andrés was the first to move, breaking the spell.
His chair scraped softly against the polished marble floor as he leaned forward, his usual careless demeanor stripped away. His voice, when he spoke, was unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his brother's severity.
"Hey," he murmured, reaching across the table to cover her trembling hand with his warm, steady one. "Breathe, hermosa. You're shaking."
