Lana was left momentarily speechless.
It wasn't something that happened to her often. Years of dealing with hostile parents, manipulative guardians, tearful couples, and arrogant elites had trained her to keep her composure no matter the circumstance. But now, standing before Damian Thorn, she found herself unable to immediately form a response.
His eyes—dark, steady, terrifyingly calm—were fixed on her with an intensity that made her throat tighten. There was no raised voice, no aggressive movement, yet the authority rolling off him was suffocating. Lana's breath came short, her chest rising faster than she would have liked. Instinctively, she looked away, breaking eye contact as though doing so would loosen the invisible grip he had on the room.
"But there's no official or public we—" she attempted, her voice faltering mid-sentence.
"How come you know so much more than the husband, Ms. Lana?" Damian cut in smoothly.
The interruption wasn't loud, but it was absolute.
