The soft chime of crystal against crystal filled the air, blending with the hum of conversation and the faint jazz that drifted through the upscale restaurant. The scent of roasted truffle and aged wine floated between the tables, and for everyone else there, the night shimmered with luxury and calm. But at one corner table near the window—where the city lights spilled in fractured reflections—tension burned like fire beneath the glassy surface.
Courtney sat with her hands clasped tightly around the stem of her glass, the condensation dampening her fingertips. She hadn't touched her drink. Her stomach had been twisted in knots ever since Sean called that morning, his tone strangely cheerful, almost forced. Now, sitting across from him, she realized what that tone had masked—control, simmering anger, and something far darker beneath the practiced smile he wore.
