Adelyn froze—and in that very second—
Dylan stepped into the room, carrying with him a chill that felt as though it had seeped straight out of Antarctica.
The temperature dropped instantly.
A sharp, biting cold spread through the air, wrapping around everyone like an invisible grip. Even the men sprawled across the floor —who had been groaning in pain just moments ago—fell eerily silent.
Adelyn didn't know how to react.
The man before her exuded an overwhelming aura of icy composure—controlled, restrained … and yet, beneath it all, she could clearly see it—
Fury.
It burned quietly in his eyes.
Not wild.
Not reckless.
But controlled to a terrifying degree.
As though he was holding it back … just enough so it wouldn't scorch everything in its path.
Was he … restraining his anger for her?
Wait—
More than that—
Was he angry at her?
The realization struck her like a sudden jolt.
Of course, he would be.
