He had called her an idiot. He had given her the most confusing, emotionally volatile, contradictory ultimatum in the history of human relationships. A normal wife would have thrown a vase at his head. A normal wife would be crying, or screaming, or giving him the silent treatment.
But Elara was not normal. She was a machine. And machines did not handle paradoxes well.
Gods, Julian groaned, running a hand through his silver hair. She's actually just going to ignore me, isn't she? She's going to take it literally, process the threat matrix, and just leave me in here for two days.
The thought made his chest tighten. He wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to maintain his pride. But the truth was, the moment he had walked out of her office, he had instantly regretted it. He didn't want two days of calmness. He wanted her.
He threw himself down onto the edge of his massive, midnight-blue bed, burying his face in his hands.
Knock. Knock.
