Dahlia's POV
Dorian's penetrating stare cut through me like a blade, distrust swirling in his midnight eyes.
"Tell me what really happened last night," he demanded.
"Nothing worth mentioning. Shouldn't someone in your profession have better intel than I do?" I replied.
My tone remained composed as I slipped my arm free from his firm grip. I offered him a measured smile before nodding toward his vehicle, indicating he should climb in first.
"We should discuss this privately." I maintained my calm facade and settled into the passenger seat.
The car's exterior bore the scars of time, with rust eating through the paint in several spots. Yet the interior was immaculate, almost pristine.
A subtle blend of jasmine and stale cigarettes hung in the air.
Dorian turned the ignition. His jaw clenched tight, frustration and worry warring across his features.
Roughly ten minutes later, as Dorian paused at a traffic signal, he fixed me with an intense look and spoke.
