The silence that followed the click of the door was heavy, a suffocating weight that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room. It was an awkward thing, stretching until the hum of the office air conditioning sounded like a roar.
Three people stood caught in a frozen tableau, each spinning a web of suspicion and fear that threatened to tangle them all.
Olive sat perfectly still, her small hands trembling in her lap. Her eyes darted between Gianna's calm, marble-like face and the polished, handsome mask of the man who had ruined her.
A cold, hollow ache settled in her chest.
If Gianna knew the truth—if she knew exactly what kind of monster Noah Newman was—how could she still be with him? Did she simply not care?
The sight of Noah standing there, proprietary and smug with a lunchbox in his hand, made Olive feel physically ill.
Gianna, for her part, was mentally cursing the universe.
