I could practically hear Leah's thoughts scrambling, her composure cracking beneath the pressure pressing down on her. The room still carried Elliot's dominance, thick and suffocating, leaving her no space to breathe, let alone recover. When I spoke earlier, I knew I was pushing her further into a corner—and the sharp glance she shot me proved it. If looks could wound, she would have torn into me already.
Elliot didn't say anything, but the shift in his expression was enough. The air around him cooled, his presence growing heavier, more dangerous. It wasn't loud or aggressive—it was controlled, the kind of authority that didn't need to announce itself. And Leah felt it.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Presgrave," she said quickly, her voice losing its earlier edge as she tried to salvage what little dignity she had left. "It wasn't intentional. I thought Miss Tillman would like that coffee."
I almost laughed.
