Vesta's POV
I threw the door shut with enough force to make the crystal figurines on the mahogany table tremble. Quentin remained motionless on the leather sofa, his attention fixed on his phone screen as if I were invisible. The same man who once stood whenever I entered a room now couldn't be bothered to acknowledge my presence.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" I demanded, hurling my designer purse across the marble floor. "You've been ducking my calls for days. When you actually answer, you treat me like some annoying stranger."
His eyes never lifted from the device. His jaw remained clenched in that familiar stubborn line.
"Quentin, look at me when I'm speaking."
"I can hear you perfectly fine," he replied in a monotone voice. "I have pressing matters to deal with right now."
A harsh laugh escaped my throat. "More pressing than me?"
"Cut the theatrics, Vesta. I'm not dealing with your emotional outbursts today."
