Manson lifted his glass unhurriedly, took a slow sip, then set it down with calm precision. The wine swirled once, catching the light before settling much like the heavy silence under his control.
A smile formed, controlled, unreadable.
"Then," he said softly, "let's get to the point…"
His gaze swept across the table, finally resting where he wanted it most.
On Fiona.
"…why I invited you all here," Manson said calmly, fingers resting lightly against the edge of the table. His gaze swept across them before settling. "Fiona will be spending every weekend with me. Starting Friday."
Fiona's eyes lifted slowly, locking onto his.
Sharp. Silent. Unblinking.
"Oh, that's not an issue," Brett said almost too quickly, relief slipping into his voice. "She can even stay with you on weekdays if you want. I thought it was something serious or important."
For a fraction of a second, the air changed.
Manson's gaze snapped to him.
Cold.
Heavy.
The kind of look that made, sound disappear.
